


Roses in December

by writeyourownlifestory



Series: Roses In December [1]
Category: Queen (Band)
Genre: Amnesia, Car Accidents, M/M, Romance, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-06
Updated: 2019-07-11
Packaged: 2020-02-27 09:43:22
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 15
Words: 52,158
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18736522
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/writeyourownlifestory/pseuds/writeyourownlifestory
Summary: Freddie and Brian exchanged a look that Roger wasn’t very fond of. It seemed off-putting and strange to him. “I’m going to call John,” Brian mentioned, standing to his feet, shuffling over to the phone in the corner of the room.“Am I missing something? Who is John?” Roger asked, looking between the two.Brian slammed his hand down onto the ringer, turning back to look at his friend. Freddie, who had been mysteriously quiet for the past few moments, shifted in his seat. “Roger darling, what year is it?” He asked him quietly.Roger shrugged his shoulders lightly. “Nineteen seventy.” He answered, clear as day.Much to Roger’s shock and awe, his answer had been incorrect. It was nineteen seventy-six.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hello ladies and ladies. I hope you are ready for a bit of a wild ride. This came from the glorious minds of myself and the fantastic writer of the Hardzello fic Angels To Fly. Be aware, it is a bit of a slow burn and since there will be 15 chapters total, each chapter will be posted weekly, particularly on Mondays. 
> 
> Without further ado, please enjoy. And remember
> 
> God gave us memories so we might have roses in December...

 

The snow was heavy as it fell from the sky, covering everything in sight. It had been raining the past several days, with a sprinkle of hail every now and then. The December chill was enough to finally freeze everything over and while at times the sight was particularly picturesque, the look of the white sheet outside his window made Roger squint. His eyesight was bad enough, but this was practically blinding. 

 

When he was a young lad, Roger used to adore the snow. He would drive his mum wild as he would bounce up and down in anticipation as she dressed him in his jumper and heavy snowsuit. He would twitch and kick as she would help him and his sister with his boots before finally opening the door and ushering him outside for a bit of fun. 

 

The sound of the snow crunching beneath his feet had always been a sound he enjoyed. With each step he took, the sound would fill the air and the marks he left behind in the former untouched ground left the small boy feeling powerful. He had disturbed something just a moment prior looked as it if had been created by God himself. 

 

Maybe it was the malicious part in the back of his mind or perhaps he was just a silly boy who loved to cause a bit of innocent havoc. He and his sister would spend hours in the snow, having their snowball fights or building forts. He would find the heights hill and sled down it. They would stay out there until their mum called for them, shouting their names until they finally gave in and ran back home. 

 

There, they would trail the snow into the house, watching as it quickly morphed into wet puddles that would get soaked up by the carpet or stain the wooden floors. Roger could still remember how his mother would tear his hide for causing such a mess. 

 

There were a lot of things he could remember, in fact. 

 

Not just about the snow on cold December mornings, but other seasons as well. 

 

He remembered being in primary school and running along with his friends, scratching up his knees and sliding in the mud when they would get too into their short round of rugby during their lunch break after it rained. His teachers would shake their heads and force him to the lavatory to clean up through all the blond could do was smile with his friends. 

 

He remembered the scorching days of summer when he would flirt with the pretty girls in their pretty suits by the water's edge. The beaches were always crowded this time of year, but it was worth the traffic and pushing through the sand if it meant getting the number a lovely lady in a skimpy two-piece and take her out for a bite following weekend.

 

He remembered running through the piles of leaves that had fallen from the trees so he wouldn’t be late to his class while in union crisp autumn afternoons. He wasn’t late often enough, but sometimes his fan would act up or he got caught in a conversation with friends or stuck in rehearsal with Brian or Tim.

 

Roger remembered a lot. But he also forgot a lot too. 

 

He forgot cutting his hair into such a strange style. Long in the back, but short in the front. He knew that things like this, fashion trends, well they came and went, but Roger could have never imagined a style like this stick around for much longer. 

 

He forgot dying it such a harshly light color like it had been when he was just a lad. His hair darkened over time and while he could admit he preferred it lighter as it had been in his youth, he never imagined willingly sitting in a chair and allowing someone to bleach his gorgeous locks and then glaze over it with such a blond tint. 

 

He forgot where he had been going when he got into the car and he forgot what car he had been driving. The last automobile he remembered getting behind the wheel of was that old junker of a van he and Brian shared for gigs. He spent a good amount of money on it, practically stealing all of Freddie’s shifts at the market so he could save up and buy it. 

 

The thing was loud and was barely held together. The back was full of band equipment that he would lug around to gigs or remove for whenever he had a girl he wanted to take out. He would put down blankets and pillows hoping to make it more comfortable for them both if it got to that point. 

 

Now he had people telling him that he had a Ferrari, a gorgeous silver thing that was practically ripped to pieces in the accident that Roger barely walked away from. 

 

He forgot about the accident too. They had tried to get a bit of information out of him, hoping to find out what happened that night. He had no drugs or alcohol in his system and it didn’t appear that he had been speeding. It was late into the night, but not outrageously. It seemed to be chalked up to the wrong place, wrong time. 

 

The fact that he survived was a miracle in itself, but not without a few screws loose. The cars twisting and tumbling down to the road was enough to knock all sense our of Roger, leaving him bruised and broken and unconscious for quite some time. 

 

Five days to be exact. When he arrived, they were able to stabilize him, but at the end of the day, all they could do was wait. No one could tell for sure what would happen. He would either wake up and everything would be okay, or he would slip off into the darkness and they would mourn the loss of another good musician. 

 

In the end, it seemed to be a bit of the two. Roger did wake up, but any memory of the past seven years was completely lost of the man. It had been a confusing time for Roger, especially since everyone around him was baffled at the very idea of him not being able to remember anything. 

 

The doctors first thought it to be from the shock and that his mind would slowly drift back to him, but he had been at the hospital for nearly two weeks now and nothing returned. His mum rang every specialist they could find and all those who agreed to see him in secret all sad the same thing. 

 

Amnesia brought on by acute brain damage. It seemed while his car was in shambles, everything from the neck down was completely fine. To be completely frank, it sounded like something out of a bloody soap opera. Roger expected to hear shit like this from Coronation Street, not his own fucking life. 

 

At first, he thought it was some prank that the boys had played on him. After all, no one had said a thing to him when he woke. It was a strange feeling, coming out of the dark and towards the light. His mind was fuzzy as it searched for anything it could cling to. It found a gentle voice somewhere and the words are spoken aloud were enough to capture his attention. 

 

He knew the passage well enough, though it was not from the bible. Instead, it was a novel, formally a play that Roger knew almost by heart as his mum used to read it to him almost lightly when he was just a lad. 

 

Roger could recall running around his room, playing pretend with his little sister in tow. They would take on the respective roles of Peter and Wendy, running about and chasing the tiny light from his flashlight and acting as if it was Tinker Bell. Such innocent children, they used to be. 

 

Only a few times had he seen such fear in his sister's eyes. Like when she first fell off her bike into the street while she was still learning to ride or when an old boyfriend got a bit too rough with her after a date. Roger saw the same fear here when she and their mum arrived at the hospital, neither knowing if he was going to live or die. 

 

Roger wanted to go back to those days of when he would play pretend. Back when he didn’t have a car in the world. Instead, he was here, waking up in a room he didn’t recognize, listening to a man he didn’t know read aloud a novel he knew all too well. The man had been startled by Roger, who awoke with a mumble of the next time that was to be spoken. 

 

“Oh, the cleverness of me,” He whispered just loud enough for himself and the man reading to hear. 

 

The man reading stopped his reading suddenly, the book slipping from his fingers and hitting the floor as he sprang from his chair. 

 

Roger would have felt bad for the volunteer, having given him half a freight, but his mind was still so muddy that all he could do was look around the room. It was pale and boring, though bigger than one would expect. He had been to hospital before, shoved in a tiny corner with only a sheet offering a bit of privacy. 

 

Here, he had the whole room to himself. A room, that seemed to be completely cluttered with getting well soon cards and flowers. So many bloody flowers. Roses and roses filled the room. Who the fuck could afford that many roses, especially during the winter time? 

 

The pounding of his head only continued as the man, who had previously been reading to him was now shouting for the nurses to come as quick as possible. He was by his side in a second, reaching out to touch him, pulling away when Roger let out a bit of a wince. 

 

He was terribly uncomfortable, hooked up to all the wires and lying back in such a strangely flat position on the bed. Everything after that was a bit of a blur. Nurses and doctors came rushing inside, shoving the volunteer away to check up on Roger. 

 

It seemed he had been asleep for some time, but not some ordinary sleep. Roger didn’t go to bed in the shitty basement apartment that he shared with Brian and wake up in hospital. Oh no, he had been in a coma for five days straight after an accident that Roger didn’t even remember. 

 

The doctors asked him questioned and he answered all he could. He gave his name, spelling it for them. His birthday and what not. When asked about the accident, he confessed he didn’t remember and no one bat an eye. No one was worried. In fact, they just seemed pleased that he was awake. No internal bleeding. Nothing was paralyzed. He was going to be okay. 

 

It had been a full day after he woke that his bandmates finally came to see him. He guessed they were busy with work or whatever, but having them come was still nice enough. They had commented on how bruised he was and he fired back with a bit of snark insisting that if they wanted a new drummer they didn’t have to fuck with his breaks. 

 

They laughed through the tension and while no one wanted to talk about it, Roger could see the worry and relief in the eyes of Freddie and Brian. There was a lingering fear that went through every person that Roger interacted with, one that would slowly drift away from the longer they spoke to him. They would see Roger smiling his usual smile and shake away any apprehension they had and soon enough they would be smiling with them. 

 

Freddie and Brian were smiling too until Roger decided to ask about their other bandmate. They had gone their separate ways for just a few months now and while they may not have ended things on the strongest part, Roger couldn’t imagine Tim staying away. 

 

“Roge, we haven’t spoken to Tim in years now,” Brian mentioned. “I’m sure he sends his regards though Miami has been doing everything to keep this all out of the press.” 

 

“Miami? Like the Beach?” Roger asked, raising a brow to the others. “What do you mean we haven’t spoken to Tim in years? It was only a few weeks ago he rang us up and called us a couple of wankers for changing the name of the band.” 

 

Roger hated the name, to be honest. Even when, as they were grabbing any gig they could, it still sounded ridiculous. Who the fuck wanted to see a couple of blokes prancing around in a band called _Queen_? 

 

Freddie and Brian exchanged a look that Roger wasn’t very fond of. It seemed off-putting and strange to him. “I’m going to call John,” Brian mentioned, standing to his feet, shuffling over to the phone in the corner of the room. 

 

“Am I missing something? Who is John?” Roger asked, looking between the two. 

 

Brian slammed his hand down onto the ringer, turning back to look at his friend. Freddie, who had been mysteriously quiet for the past few moments, shifted in his seat. “Roger darling, what year is it?” He asked him quietly. 

 

Roger shrugged his shoulders lightly. “Nineteen seventy.” He answered, clear as day. 

 

Much to Roger’s shock and awe, his answer had been incorrect. It was nineteen seventy-six. At first, he thought they were messing with him. A bit of torture for putting them through such a terrible thing. He would deserve it sure and they’d laugh about it later, but at the moment it would be worth the annoyance. 

 

But every magazine that they had supplied for him and all the calendars in the hospital all spoke the truth. Something was incredibly wrong and both men hurried from the room to grab the doctor. When the doctor needed more information, they had a specialist come around. And then his mum and sister began calling every doctor they could from all around the globe. Roger didn’t know how they could afford all this, but nobody seemed to bat an eye at the price of what this would all cost at the end of the day. 

 

As it turned out, they didn’t have to worry, because money wasn’t an issue for Roger anymore.

 

After the doctors and specialist were finished with him and insisted that his memory loss was something he’d have to deal with, they suggested that he have a bit of a sit down with his friends and family and talk about everything that he had missed. His mum and sister gave a bit of information. How Roger bought his mum a house and his sister a car. He promised to take care of them both as he and the band got larger and larger. 

 

It was the band that told him the most as they left the biggest gap. The last thing Roger remembered about Queen was that they landed a gig in the following year playing for some uni in Glasgow. Now it seemed they had hit the charts all over the world and had repeatedly toured, selling out thousands of arenas. That angered Roger more than anything and as he paced around the hospital room, finally given the leeway to move about on his own, he found himself fighting the urge to pick up a lamp and smash it to pieces. 

 

“Everything we talked about happened!” He expressed harshly, his hands falling to his hips as he locked eyes with Brian. “All our dreams! Everything we worked so fucking hard for happened and I can’t damn well remember any of it!” 

 

“Just calm down, Roger,” Brian told him carefully, though it only made him more upset. 

 

“Calm down? Six years! Four albums!” 

 

“Five.” A voice from the corner spoke suddenly, correcting is counting. “Six, if you count the one we’re currently putting together.” 

 

“Six albums, Brian. I can’t remember any of it. Not one note, not one lyric.” He paced again, stopping only to shoot an arm out and gesture to the man who was sitting in the corner. “I can’t even remember our fucking bass player!” 

 

Meeting John had been one of the strangest experienced in his life. At first, he did recognize him, but only as of the man who had been reading to him when he first woke up. He expected that the boys had all took shifts on when to watch over him, and he just happened to wake up when poor John was stuck with him. 

 

It was a baffling situation as neither man knew what to do or how to handle themselves. They had nearly seven years worth of friendship between them, but only one could remember any of it. To Roger, the long haired man was nothing more than a stranger. 

 

John seemed to take it harder than one would expect. His gentle face was covered in a pained expression that tugged at Roger’s heart in a way he couldn’t put his finger on. He tried to crack a joke and introduce himself all over again, but John didn’t smile, didn’t laugh. He just looked at him with tear stained grey eyes before leaving the room. Freddie followed him, while Brian just patted Roger’s back, reminding him that this was hard on everyone, including Roger. 

 

Now they all stood around his hospital room, which was big and private and full of flowers because they were a huge hit and continued to pump out number one albums. Albums that Roger had no recollection about. 

 

Miami — the band's lawyer and apparently fill-in manager — was handling all the news reports. The last thing the band wanted was for someone to catch wind of this. Everyone was aware of Roger’s accident, that much couldn’t be hidden, but as far as the public was aware, the drummer was awake and healing. 

 

“You just need a bit of time, Roge. Your memory won’t be gone forever.” Brian tried to insist, much to the dismay of Roger himself. 

 

He didn’t want to hear anyone speak to him with such a lame tone. So sad, so pathetic. He would have rather heard the truth, no matter how hard it was to swallow. This was a horrible fucking situation, one that could ruin everything they all worked so hard on. Poof. Gone. Erased in time without fucking care. 

 

Roger agreed to stay at the hospital for a bit — wasn’t like he couldn’t afford it after all. He may not remember any of the albums, but he could certainly enjoy the royalties. That was two weeks ago. He was here now, sitting alone in his room, without a single fucking clue of what happened to him. 

 

He tried to do the treatments the doctors offered, but none of it worked. It just left him with a headache and the ache to drink until the pain went away. Six years — nearly seven! Nearly all of his twenties were gone. All the touring he had done, all the dating and shagging. All the good rock star shit he and Tim used to talk about — nothing was left. He was nearly thirty and all he could think about was finishing up his schooling and hanging up his degree in his mum's place.

 

Despite the lack of memory, Roger knew he couldn’t stay here any longer. All he did was stay in this one little room, reading over letters that had been sent to him from fans and thinking about the life he had lost. It was clear the man was slipping into a bit of a depression, believing himself to be worth more dead than alive. 

 

At least if he had died in the accident, the group have something to work with. They could write a whole bunch of sad songs in his honor and have a bit of a tribute concert for him. Without his memory, he was useless. Wasted space for the band to busy themselves with. 

 

He wasn’t sure how much longer he was going to be able to survive it all. Of course, Roger was free to go at any time, so long as someone agreed to release him. He was an adult and could sign himself in and out of the hospital without issue, but due to this specific situation, they needed his emergency contact. 

 

He agreed and had the doctors make the call as he was growing far too antsy to just sit around and stare into the snow any longer. As it turned out, the top of his list had been the bass player, John Deacon. Roger wondered how chummy the two had to be in order for Roger to choose him as the first to contact in case of medical emergencies. After John, it had been the lawyer, Miami. Or Jim Beach, as his name was. Both men arrived at the hospital, deciding to hear Roger out and listen to him lament on the whole thing. 

 

“I may not remember either of you, but you have to understand that if I stay here any longer, I’m going to go out of my mind.” Roger insisted as the three sat together. “I’m already out of my mind, but I’ll just continue to go down that slippery slope.” 

 

“You don’t owe us an expiation, Roger,” Miami mentioned oh so very carefully. “Nothing about this is idle. This has been hard on everyone.” 

 

“I spent Christmas alone in this room. I can’t bring in the New Year trapped inside these walls. I don’t care where I go. Ship me off to Cornwall to stay with my mum or off to America if you have to, but I can’t stay here any longer.” 

 

Miami turned his head, glancing over to John who had once again been as silent as a statue. He didn’t talk much, Roger had noticed that right off the bat. He just sat, making little remarks if he felt the need. “Give us a moment, Roger.” Standing to his feet, Miami led John out of the room. 

 

Roger left his bed, going to stand by the window once more. It had stopped snowing just a few hours earlier and nothing there was nothing but the shiny sheet on the ground. Roger felt the familiar tug in his chest, the way kind when he was just a young boy. The need to destroy what was so pretty, so perfect. So untouched. 

 

He pinched the bridge of his nose, wondering how much longer he would have to put up with this sight. The same scene day after day, sitting by the same window day in and day out. Trying out the same techniques that were meant to open up his mind and instead that got him nowhere. Roger knew if he continued to circle the drain and dig himself deeper and deeper into this repetitious rut, he would go absolutely insane. 

 

When the door opened around, Roger turned to see John entering with Miami following in suit. The dark-haired man approached him carefully, his arms bound around himself. His expression was unwavering, unmoving. Roger found himself rubbing at his collarbone, trying his best to read this man that he couldn’t even remember. 

 

“Collect your things,” John told him quietly. “We’re going home.” 

 

Roger raised a bleached eyebrow at the man, looking over his head to glance to their lawyer, who was giving an approving nod and almost cheerful thumbs up. 

 

“Right.” He sighed quietly, having not expected to have it all happen so soon. “Let me pack then.”

 

Roger turned, looking around the room. He didn’t have much there, aside from the flowers that were slowly dying and the letters from fans that meant little to nothing to him as he felt so unearned of the praise they were giving him. 

 

The man they were writing to didn’t exist any longer and yet throwing them away just seemed so cruel. Miami took it upon himself to gather them all up, promising to save them for later on. All Roger could do was a nod and gather anything else he wanted to bring as he prepared to go home, wherever that may be.


	2. Chapter 2

Home, as it turned out, was something of a masterpiece. Roger had grown up in little places; small apartments and cottages. Lofts that were cramped and basements that were freezing. He never complained — that was a lie. He complained a lot. Especially to Brian, who shared a room with him while in uni. Roger remembered that small place very well, though he blamed that on the memory loss. 

 

When the car pulled into the driveway, he thought it was another prank being pulled onto him. This looked more like a dollhouse that his sister had gotten one Christmas. Like the homes that were featured in all those magazines or on the cover of those dirty novels, his mum used to hide under her bed and read night after night. 

 

It was a bloody mansion! He — Roger fucking Taylor — lived in a mansion. Not even in his wildest dreams had he ever imagined that happening. Sure, he spoke about it. Saying he’d buy one hell of a home that he would never actually live in because all he did was move about while touring, but he’d still do it. 

 

He and Tim used to go on and on about the things they would do once Smile made it big. They’d have dozens of cars and draws filled with designer clothing. He’d have a girl on each arm, always someone pretty to show off whenever he entered a room. He’d have a great big home that would be used on the set of movies because it was just that glamours. 

 

Even talking about that seemed so wild and out of his mind and yet the truth was staring him right in the face. Roger Taylor made it. After years of begging his mum to pay for lessons and putting up with his endless practicing, all the hard work finally paid off and this very house was to show for it.

 

And it was all his own. Well, to a degree. 

 

To his surprise, it seemed that he shared the home with John. You’d think each member of a band that had multiple number one albums would be able to afford their own homes. It felt strange, knowing he lived with someone he had no memory of, but the house was big enough to distract him from that fact for the time being. 

 

As they entered, John gave him a bit of a tour. They had their own sound room, where Roger’s personal drum kit was set up, along with a handful of basses that John liked to keep around. There was a room that was just for John, who explained that he had gone to school for electrical engineering and would sometimes tinker around with different things. Roger had his own room, which he apparently used for writing.

 

“Have I written a lot of songs?” Roger asked, looking around the room. The walls were covered with pictures that seemed too good to be true. 

 

Them holding up gold discs and photographed with different celebrities, like Elton John and David Bowie. How the fuck could Roger has met David Bowie and not remember it?! 

 

“A few,” John answered him, standing off in the open door. “Freddie said he would come over sometime soon. Show you a few albums. I think he’s hoping it will jog your memory.” 

 

“If all that psychology bullshit didn’t wake anything up, I highly doubt the music will,” Roger muttered dryly, turning about so he could face John again. “Where to next?” 

 

John showed him the rest of the house. The kitchen, which was fully stocked and the sitting room, which held the largest television Roger had ever seen up close. They had a full stacked wall of different films and over in the corner was the most gorgeous record player he had ever come in contact with. Beside that was a shelf filled with the record, all of which were in alphabetical order, though he didn’t recognize all the names or artist. 

 

He took a quick look at them, taking note of the artist he did remember. He saw a name frequently show up and grabbed one of the records to look it over. “Who is ABBA?” He called our curiously to John. “I have their whole collection.” 

 

“Those are mine,” John replied softly, appearing beside him. He was smiling for the first time since they met, though he wasn’t looking at Roger. His eyes were trained onto the album in his hands. “You aren’t the biggest fan, actually.” 

 

“Oh, come on. Music is music, right? Can’t be that terrible.” Taking the record out, he started up the player. It was basically the same as the one he had back at uni, just far larger and with better same. A song began to play, one that tickled Roger’s ears in the strangest ways. 

 

It wasn’t bad. Not in the least. Very fun and loud and happy. He didn’t have a word to describe it, but then again, perhaps he did and just forgot what it was called. John was watching him carefully, those gray eyes trained on his expression.

 

Roger had always loved attention. He was a bit of a class clown, a show-off. He wanted the world to know his name and it seemed that was exactly what he got. And yet for the past few days, he found that he felt more like a bug under a microscope rather than a rock star. Everybody was watching him, trying to see what could possibly be going on inside his head. 

 

“It’s good,” Roger answered quietly. That was all he had to say about that. 

 

John reached over, turning the record off. “It’s disco.” He told him. “You hate disco.” 

 

“I’ll have to remember that.” He replied cheekily, smiling just a bit when John sent a glare his way. “Show me to my room?” He asked, deciding that he would prefer a bit of a nap. 

 

John, who was moving his hands carefully with the record, paused for a moment. “Right.” He muttered. Placing the record on the shelf, he turned to leave. “Follow me.” 

 

Roger grabbed his bag from the hospital, which had been filled with the clothes that were brought for him. He guessed Miami or John had been the one to pack them. Up to the grand staircase, John turned down the hall, going all the way down until they approached the main bedroom. 

 

It was extravagant, just as expected. The bed was large and luxurious and Roger silently prayed it was more comfortable than the one he had been given at the hospital. He moved deeper into the bedroom, his fingers running slowly over the duvet cover. It felt like silk along with his fingertips.

 

“Now this is what I call a bedroom.” He mentioned, circling about. There was art on the wall, things Roger would have never thought to have posted. Back in uni, his walls were covered with album covers and band posters. He used to have pictures of half naked girls hung up on the ceiling, something for him look at when he was bored and lonely at night. 

 

Now he was an adult, just a year and a half shy of being thirty and his bedroom showed that off well enough. It was classy and comfortable. Something he could proudly show off without an ounce of shame, but also made him feel relaxed and at peace. 

 

Climbing back, he settled upon the bed, resting against the pillows. The bed was far too large for just one person, but he guessed that was the point. Lots of space for him to move about whenever he needed to. 

 

“Where’s your room?” He asked, catching John watching him once more. 

 

“Other end of the hall.” He answered him. “I’ll give you space. Just call if you need anything.” John stood there for another lingering moment, his eyes casting over Roger before he turned and left the room. 

 

Roger didn’t know how he would feel being alone again. He didn’t hate it, though even in his younger years he remembered always wanting to have a bit of company. Sometimes he would go out and find a girl just because he wanted some company for the evening. He found a bit of solace in knowing that John would be close enough and he wondered if that was why they shared the mansion together. 

 

Roger was unwed, didn’t have any children. It seemed all he had was his music, money, and cars. Any man would get lonely and if he was too busy to have a girlfriend perhaps staying close to a bandmate who had the same schedule as you was the next best thing. 

 

Pushing up off the bed, he began to explore. The bedroom was simple enough. He never imagined having a room like this. All his bedrooms growing up had always been so busy and cluttered. He guessed in old age he got used to being tidier. Not that he was a slob before! No, no. His mum always thought him to take care of himself and to never leave a mess, but instead of the whole mess of posters and books, the walls were neatly painted and beautiful professional paintings were placed to give the room a bit more life. 

 

His dresser was covered in jewelry boxes, all of which were lined with different rings and necklaces, most of which he seemed to like. He didn’t wear much, but he guessed over time, different trends came and went and Roger followed through as much as possible. 

 

He went into his closet, his heart practically bursting to find it a bloody walk in. Though half of the wall was surprisingly bare, the rest was filled with the most gorgeous choices. He had been surprised when a bag was dropped off for him at the hospital. Everything was comfortable and nice to look at. He had practically things, like jumpers and denim, but then there are some other choices that had Roger in a spine. 

 

He always took his fashion sense very seriously. After all, the sixties were a time where all the men were expected to look one way, yet suddenly there was a chance, a time for people to experiment. Men could wear tight-fitting clothing without the bat of an eye and seeing as he shared most of his clothing with Brian or Tim, it was easy to just grab something and go. 

 

Roger had dozens of beautiful choices here and he found himself actually excited to play dress up for the first time since he was a child.

 

Going back to the bedroom, Roger paused when he saw the large full-body mirror standing in the corner. He gave himself a once over, sighing as he looked at the scar that was settled over his left eyebrow, just across his temple. He had been pretty banged up due to the accident, but it was that scar that bothered him the most, as it was easily visible. 

 

His once unbothered face was now left with an ugly mark and worry lines. 

 

Turning to the bed, Roger kicked off his shoes and slid under the cover, sighing quietly. The bed was absolutely perfect and it didn’t take long for Roger to fall asleep right there, his face pressed against the pillow as he inhaled the most comforting scent. 

 

XXXX

 

Roger roamed the halls on his own after that, trying to get a feel of the place. He thought perhaps if he continued to move forward, something would send off a spark of sorts. The doctors insisted that he take a bit of time to relax his mind and search deep inside himself. Roger was tired of searching, to be completely honest. He wanted his memories to come back to him, rather than him looking for them like he was bloody Sherlock Holmes. 

 

The house was lovely and Roger was completely taken aback that he owned the place. Even if he had all the money in his early days the way he did now, he would have never thought of buying such a place. It just seemed so out of reach, so out of his style. Sure, Roger used to fantasize about growing up in a palace (Buckingham to be exact), but that was just silly childhood thinking. 

 

Now he was a grown man with a mansion of his own. Roger tried to imagine the fun he could have had in a place like this. All the wild parties he must have thrown. If he truly was a rockstar, he was sure to have thrown a bash almost every single night! After all, who could resist? He could have been like that Gatsby fellow, throwing the best parties for all were willing to walk through the door. 

 

He questioned John about it, hoping to get a better idea of the type of person he was. After all, if they were close enough to share the same house, surely John must know him well enough to fill in all the missing details of the last six (nearly seven) years. 

 

To his surprise, it seemed he was downright boring. 

 

“You had your fun while touring. When that’s all finish and there was no recording to be done, you were rather tame.” 

 

“Tame? How the fuck could a twenty-eight-year-old rockstar be _tame_?” 

 

Rockstar and tame were two words that should never be said in the same sentence. He had read all about rockstars and watched interviews on the telly. He knew the lives they were supposed to live. Never ending events and award shows and parties. Those were the things Roger thrived for! And now here was John, saying he barely did any of that! 

 

“You weren’t staying out until three in the morning and snorting cocaine every single night, Roge. Even the worlds greatest drummer got tired.” 

 

“I sound old and boring.” Roger scoffed, flipping down onto the couch. He laid back, his arms crossed over his chest, a childish pout along his lips. 

 

“You’re not boring, Roger.” John tried to insist on where he sat in the armchair. He had the newspaper on his lap as he reached forward to set his teacup down on the table. “You work on your cars and write your songs. This house is our relaxation center. You may not realize it, but touring takes a lot out on us; not to mention all the press we have to do before and after an album is released. Being a rockstar is exhausting.” 

 

Roger let out an annoyed groan, pushing himself up off the couch and back onto his feet. He didn’t want to hear about the same things he did during his off time or how hard it was to be famous. Of course, it was hard! You can’t sell out arenas and have number one albums if you weren’t working your ass off for it. And if Roger remembered Freddie and Brian well enough, he knew that they would expect nothing but the best. And Roger was the best — even the bloody bassist said it. 

 

Leaving the sitting room, he walked off to the kitchen, pleased to find that it was well stocked. To him, he was still in the mind frame of being a (quite literal) starving artist, sharing a small fridge with barely anything in it other than moldy bread and vegetables that Brian had stolen from his mums garden. He rummaged around for a bit, taking his time to go through the choices before finally settling on fresh fruit and a cold beer. He snuck in a bit of cheese as well, going off to stare at the snow that still covered the backyard. 

 

“The garden is completely covered,” John mentioned, entering the kitchen and placing his teacup into the sink. Roger wondered if they had a maid or if they did all the cleaning themselves. Wasn’t like they couldn’t afford the former. Roger had done enough chores in his early days. He had to splurge a little bit surely. “You used to sit outside almost daily. You got inspiration from it.” 

 

“Ah right. Sitting among the daffodils and daisies, writing classic rock songs for the next generation.” Roger replied, the obvious sarcasm lingering throughout his words. 

 

He could think of all the songs he used to come up with in that crawlspace of an apartment he shared with Tim — all the lyrics he would write up and then discard without many impressions to them. Now he was older and apparently far more relaxed, writing at he sat in the garden, probably sipping on tea as he waited for something fun to come on the telly. 

 

“Roses,” John mentioned suddenly.

 

“What?” 

 

“We have risen bushes planted in the garden. Not daisies or daffodils.” 

 

Roger let out a groan, pushing away from the window. “Of fucking course we have roses! God, how much more of a cliche have I become? What's next, are you going to tell me that I’ve written a love song too?” 

 

John shifted where he stood, his arm running up and down his sleeve slowly. “In a way,” He admitted carefully. 

 

“For fuck sake,” Roger spit out, leaving the kitchen with his plate in hand. He didn’t want to talk anymore. So, like a child annoyed with his parent, Roger stomped off back into his luxurious bedroom and sat on top of the gigantic bed that he apparently never had anybody in and ate alone. He thought about ringing Freddie or Brian but he didn’t know their numbers and didn’t feel like asking John for it. 

 

So he just ate and stayed there, sneaking back downstairs to watch the news and see what was going on in the world. Nothing too amazing, he had to admit. The most shocking things were going on in his own life. He stayed up well into the night, sitting in front of the telly just trying to find something that would capture his attention.

 

Eventually, John found him flipping through the channels. He paused on some black and white Samurai movie, his eyes trained on it as he tried to read the subtitles. His eyes were shit without his glasses, though it seemed he didn’t even really need them. 

 

John was in the middle of speaking, though Roger quickly cut him off without a care. “They’re speaking Japanese,” 

 

John’s head cocked, his eyes narrowing as he turned his attention back onto the screen. “And?” 

 

“I don’t know Japanese! But I understand them!” It took a minute for his mind to process the language, translating it after a moment. 

 

“We’ve toured in Japan often enough for you to pick it up, Roge,” John explained carefully. 

 

“We’ve toured in Japan?”

 

The brown-haired man bobbed his head, walking deeper into the room. “You didn’t see your kimono in the closet?” He asked, a careful, almost teasing smile coming across his lips. 

 

Roger hung his head, the heel of his hands rubbing against his eyes. The day had been far too long for the (now platinum) blond to handle. John seemed to notice this and turned flipped the twist on the remote to turn off the screen. 

 

“Come on. Up to bed.” 

 

“I swear to God if you’re going to tell me I have a bloody sleep schedule!” That would have been the end of it. If he had to have John tell him when it was time to turn in, then Roger didn’t want to have his memory back. 

 

The more he looked at it, the more it seemed like the life he was living before didn’t even seem like he was truly living. Like he was just a man going through the phases of the world around him and he just so happened to be a pretty good drummer in a very good band. 

 

A whisper of a snicker left John’s mouth and the brunet reached forward, touching at the skewed locks of Roger’s hair. He found himself subconsciously leaning into the touch before jerking away and standing to his feet. 

 

John pulled away too, placing his hands on his lap, looking like a child that got caught with his hand in the cookie jar. “Too much stimulation for one day.” He muttered quietly. “Sleep would be good for us both.” 

 

“Yeah yeah,” Roger answered, pinching the bridge of his nose. 

 

He didn’t want to admit the other man was right. That all these revelations had begun to give him a headache. Without a word of goodnight, Roger left John in the sitting room and stomped up the stairs back to his bedroom. He changed into his sleep clothes, which consisted of silk clothing so delicate he was practically afraid to wear them and a cotton robe that you’d only see in fantastically expensive hotels. 

 

He climbed into the bed that was far too large for him and wrapped himself in the heavy blanket, his head resting back on the pillow that held such a unique scent. He tried to think of what cologne or even wash it could have been and fell asleep to that very thought. 

 

 

Roger slept in the following morning, mostly because he didn’t have anything to wake up for. He didn’t have to hurry up and get to class or make sure to slip his clock-in card at the market. He wasn’t a fresh-faced lad still in university, putting on a good smile so he could make the sale. He was nearly thirty years old, living in a mansion, and apparently doing barely anything with the millions he was worth. 

 

His mum phoned in sometime in the afternoon, hoping to see how he was. Roger stayed on the line with her longer than he wanted to, but he knew hearing his voice brought comfort to her. She was worried when he had agreed to stay at the hospital, and tried to make arrangements to stay behind as well but Roger refused. 

 

His life might have gone to shit, but he certainly wasn’t going to allow his mother to put her life on hold just to make him feel better. Still, she tried her best to stay cheery and make Roger feel like the blip in his mind wasn’t the worst thing in the world. People were starving and it could have ended in a far worse turn of fate. 

 

Roger should have been grateful to have his life, even if a large portion of it was wiped from his mind. Leave it to his mum to make him feel terrible about an already horrid situation. He was relieved when the call finally ended, deciding to go through his clothes to choose an outfit for the day. 

 

He had to admit, while some of the choices were a bit questionable, his fashion sense seemed to remain just the same as the years went by. Everything was tight and open. Jeans were low and wide at the bottom. His every day look was quite nice and Roger easily found something to put on, even if he had nowhere to go.

 

The snow was slowly beginning to disappear though there was an obvious nip in the air. He wondered why if they had all the money in the world he never thought to say screw the Queens country and celebrate the end of the year in a place that was welcoming and warm. He didn’t have a family after all and he lived far enough from his mum and sister to call his life his own, so why the fuck would he want to remain bundled up in the snow when he could be ringing out the new year getting a tan on a beach with a pretty bunny by his side? 

 

Pulling himself from such a wonderful thought, Roger looked at the calendar on his nightstand. He counted the days as they were, realizing that today was, in fact, New Year’s Eve. A day where all over the world people were celebrating. Going to parties and preparing to spend the last night of the year doing whatever the fuck they wanted. 

 

Roger wondered what he would have had planned had he not flipped it car over and over until there was practically nothing left of it. John had mentioned that they didn’t go out very often, nor did they have a lot of people over at their home, but tonight would have been different. This night was special, so of course, there would have been something to do. Somewhere to go. 

 

He went off to find the man, stumbling upon him caught up in a phone conversation. Roger listened in carefully, catching the tail end of it. 

 

“It’s just not the right time — no, no I understand. I know you do, Fred. We’ll give it a try. I know anything is possible. Yes, I remember what Brian said — he studies planets Freddie, not minds. He doesn’t know everything. Roger did biology — Freddie doesn’t joke. Look, make an excuse for us. Roger is healing and I have the stomach flu. You can be as dramatic as you like. Projectile vomiting, just like Linda Blair. Yes, I know the sequel is coming. Brian plans to take Chrissie so if you want to tag along — fine, fine. You too, Fred. Happy New Year.” 

 

When John ended the call, he turned towards the door, finally catching sight of Roger. “Was that Freddie?” He asked him, though they both already knew the answer. “What did he want?” 

 

John seemed caught, stumbling uneasily along with his words. “He . . . every year there is a party thrown. It happens to be in his new home this time around.” He mentioned. “We thought it would be best if you sit this one out. I won’t be going either. I’ve never been much of a party person and Freddie’s parties can sometimes get a bit out of hand.” 

 

“Freddie lives like a rockstar. Always has.” Roger was glad to see that not everything had changed. If he knew Freddie well enough as he did, he was sure the man was still living large and doing whatever he wanted without giving a single fuck to what anybody thought. He idolized him in that respect. Freddie lived so fearlessly that he wasn’t going to allow the judgmental eyes or comments or strangers stop him from having fun. 

 

“You just came home, Roger. Do you really want to be pushed into a situation where you’ll have all these people on you, asking you questions to things you have no recollection of?” 

 

Roger offered a strong side eye, but the man had a point. While he was getting antsy being in this place, he knew he wasn’t ready for a party. Especially not one thrown by a member of the band — anybody could show up excepting something from Roger that he couldn’t give. No, he would work his way up to that. For now, he settled for what was around him. 

 

“I know you’re disappointed. You always loved New Year’s Eve. One of your favorite holidays followed by Christmas, Valentine’s Day, and your own birthday.” 

 

“I didn’t realize Valentine’s Day moved up the list.” Christmas had always been number one, followed by his birthday, which wasn’t really a holiday, but to Roger, it should have been. Halloween was close too, as the dressing up and acting a bit as a fool had always been a bit of fun for the man. Now it seemed he had turned into something of an old romantic as the years went on. 

 

Roger turned to walk back out into the hallway. He didn’t know where he was going, but the house was large enough for him to just walk off and find somewhere else to be. “Nearly thirty in a glam rock band and I’ll be spending New Year’s Eve alone with my bass player. Call me if you think of anything more pathetic than that.” 

 

Roger didn’t wait for a response, instead choosing to slip down another hallway and down the stairs. He spent the remainder of his time in the different rooms of the mansion, stumbling upon what seemed to be his library. While he may not have looked it, Roger always did enjoy a good book. Sure, he wanted to chuck his biology textbooks out a bloody window, but the man had always been a fan of good storytelling. 

 

Anything supernatural or fully fictional was enough to catch his attention. He would never fully commit to himself and call himself a bit of a fanatic, but even he could appreciate a world that somebody else made up in their very own mind. Roger would never be that creative. He could come up with lines for songs or little beats here and there, but nothing as extravagant as telling a story. 

 

Roger must have picked up six different books, skimming through them in hopes of remembering something. Most of them had worn out pages and torn covers. Had he taken them on tour with him all those years? Did he have different books on the tour buses or planes? Did he still read graphic novels? What happened to his comic book collection? Roger fell asleep in the chair, his head heavy from all the wondering. 

 

When he woke, he heard music playing from somewhere in the house. He didn’t follow the sound, choosing to once again slip into the kitchen. Roger was in the middle of cooking and whatever it was smelled delicious. Roger had been the designated chef back in uni, mostly due to his mother teaching him how to do it on his own. Freddie’s own mother knew her way around the kitchen, but the man never picked it up. 

 

John turned slightly as he entered, though kept his back to him as he worked. “Hungry?” He asked, the faint sound of the music playing from the record player filling the silence. 

 

“Starved,” Roger answered. He thought about helping in a way, but he didn’t know where anything was.

 

John seemed to have picked up on that and tilted his head forward to gesture to one of the cabinets. “Glassware is in there. Do you think you could set the table?” 

 

“Haven’t forgotten my manners just yet,” Roger answered, coming across the grab what they needed. He set the table just like he used to. Plates down with glasses in front. Folded napkins with the fork, knife, and spoon set so carefully. 

 

He found an array of wine bottles off in the corner and chose one at random. The name looked good and he was sure it was expensive. Roger may not have gone to many parties, but it seemed he still liked to drink. He poured them each a glass before settling down at the table. John joined in a few moments later, their food served. 

 

“Do you always cook or do we have someone in the house?” Roger asked him. 

 

“Usually one of us. Or we’ll go out or call for take-away.”

 

“We don’t have servants?” 

 

John raised a brow at him, his long fingers twisting around his fork. “Do you want servants?” 

 

“We’re rich. Don’t rich people have those?” 

 

John sighed, looking back at his meal. “We’re not here enough for that.” He admitted. “We have a cleaning crew that comes in often enough. We send our clothes away for dry cleaning. Anything else, we do ourselves. We’re musicians Roger, we’re capable of taking care of ourselves.” 

 

“So I’m boring, but no lazy. Duly noted.” 

 

John let out another sigh, his fork clinking against the plate. Roger ended the conversation there, turning his attention onto the meal. It was the first he had since he left the hospital and it was damn well delicious. Then again, the food they served wasn’t exactly worth comparing to. You’d think a place like that would want to feed you something decent, but maybe the bad food was part of the push to get you to leave. 

 

When he finished, Roger left the plate empty. He rolled his sleeves up, preparing to wash it all by hand until John gestured over to the machine in the corner. “We have a washer,” He mentioned, a whisper of a smirk placed out along his lips. 

 

Roger’s cheeks turned a slight shade of pink as he turned back, looking over the piece. It would be a lot to get used to it seemed. John took pity onto him and stood, taking the plate from his hand. “I’ll handle this. You head off.” 

 

With a small nod, Roger left the kitchen, retreating back on up to his room. He had gotten used to staying up there for the few days since his return, but he had to admit he was growing rather bored. Perhaps the other Roger, the older, more relaxed one, enjoyed doing little to nothing. Maybe for the Roger that existed a month ago, this was his norm. 

 

This Roger, with the twenty-one-year-old mindset, was, however, suffocating. He knew things would get better — once he was able to leave the mansion and see his mates again, things would go back to being somewhat okay. For now, all he could do was settle down in a room he didn’t recognize and acknowledge that the only company he’d be sharing would be a man he had no real connection with. 

 

Roger had tried to go to bed a bit earlier than he usually would. Even as a young lad, he would stay up to watch the clock tower down until the brand new year had arrived. As he got older, he started going to parties at peoples houses, tagging along with Tim to some uni bash or following whatever girlfriend at the time wanted to go out. 

 

If things were different and he hadn’t lost part of his mind, he’d be at Freddie’s party right now. Probably drunk on something delicious and expensive, with his arm wrapped around someone pretty and fun. He would bring in the new year with his mates and prepare to carry on as he always did. 

 

Instead, he was more alone than ever, walking the dark halls of a house that didn’t feel like a home. He settled in the sitting room just a little after eleven. The flames on the fireplace were still roaring peacefully, meaning John was either still awake or the man was reckless. Roger thought less of the later, figuring the man had been careful enough up to this point. Rather than grabbing the bag of sand to snuff out the scene, Roger took a seat beside it, watching the flames dance around. 

 

In the corner of the room sat the Christmas tree, still set up with all the trimmings and presents pushed underneath. He hadn’t noticed it until now, having had an entire mansion to get used to. It was decorated nicely, with the classic tinsel and fairy lights that were shining brightly. It was real, neatly cut until like artificial ones they sold on the telly. 

 

The ornaments were hung carefully, each having the same amount on either side. There were different shaped ones, like an adorable automobile and a little bass guitar. There were others that were beginning to show their age and even a few Roger recognized from his childhood. An angel was perched on top, watching over the whole sitting room. The tree had been put together with such care that it caused physical pain to his heart knowing he had spent the holiday alone in his hospital room. 

 

His mum and sister had called him, both offering to hurry back if need be, but Roger refused. He had to focus on his healing and having either of them there would have distracted from that.Both Fred and Brian called as well, though neither made the offer to come by, instead just calling to wish him a happy Christmas. 

 

And then there had been John who had shown up but was turned away because Roger didn’t want to have any visitors that he couldn’t even remember. He knew it was cruel, but the last thing Roger wanted was to spend the holiday with someone he had no recollection of. John only dropped by because he felt bad for the drummer. Why else would the man want to spend the bloody holiday with him at a hospital of all places?

 

Roger didn’t want pity. He didn’t want the sad looks and heavy sighs. He just wanted to be _Roger_ again, even if that man didn’t seem like someone worth the time or effort. 

 

Standing from the chair, Roger made his way over to inspect all the gifts that were stashed underneath. All of which had been neatly wrapped with the prettiest of paper. He thought back to when he was a boy and used to do the worst job of wrappings. He guessed over time, as he got older, he became more patient with it, more careful. He plucked one of the boxes out, finding his name written on it. And then another. 

 

There were four for him. Four for John. Nothing was written to indicate who they were from. Roger wasn’t silly enough to still believe in Santa. That was crushed back when he was an early teen, but he also wasn’t cynical enough to cut off the thought of the man existing. 

 

Going back to his seat, Roger decided to open the gifts with his name on them. Wasn’t like they had much use under the tree. Eventually, all the ornaments would be tucked away until next year, the tinsel and lights would be wrapped back up and the tree would be chopped up for the fireplace wood. The holiday would be over and everything would carry on the course. 

 

The first box contained a pair of tinted glasses. The coloring was absolutely gorgeous and just by holding them, Roger could see they were a bit pricier than most. As he slipped them on, he was baffled to see that well, he could actually see! Prescription sunglasses were a luxury that Roger had never been able to grasp, but it seemed that was a thing of the past. 

 

Carefully placing the glasses back into their case, Roger opened the next box with his name on it. It was long and a bit flat and contained a denim jacket with a gorgeous design on the back. He hadn’t imagined such a thing being his style, but he was impressed by it, nonetheless.

 

“What are you doing?” Roger looked up from his work of tearing open the third gift, noticing John standing in the doorway. 

 

The blond looked between the opened boxes and his roommate, unsure if he should be worried he had done something wrong or not. “They had my name on them.” He mentioned easily. “Not like they had much use just sitting there. There are a few for you as well.” 

 

John didn’t move from the doorway, instead just standing there, watching him. He wondered if he was missing something, only to realize that — yes of course he was, don’t be ridiculous — and carefully placed the half-opened box on the floor with the others. 

 

“When I was glad, my mum always made Christmas good for my sister and me.” He admitted to him. 

 

They didn’t have much growing up, but his mum always did what she could to make the holiday special. The tree, the food, the presents. Everything about it was wonderful. It broke him a bit to spend his favorite holiday inside a hospital; no friends or family to keep close or silly old songs to sing. He spent it in an uncomfortable chair, watching a black and white film he had never seen before or didn’t remember this time around. 

 

“When we first got this place, you were determined to make it a winter wonderland,” John confessed, taking a few steps into the room. “No one knew about it. We keep our private lives private for a reason — far too many groupies trying to follow and such. Anyway, we always made sure we were home for Christmas. No matter what tour we were on or what album we were releasing. It was your rule. Christmas and New Years would be spent here.” 

 

“How long ago was that?” Roger asked him, his blue eyes trained on John as he strode over, going to sit on the opposite end of the couch. 

 

“About two years?” John offered.

 

They had been living in this house for two years. Making traditions and making this gigantic place feel like it was their own. And Roger couldn’t remember any of it. “Well, I already broke that rule. Spent Christmas in hospital, thinking the world was utter shit.” 

 

John clenched his teeth, standing to his feet. “You um, you can continue. I’m going to get a drink.” He muttered out, his tone strained as he hurried out of the room. 

 

Roger chose not to overthink it, knowing some silly apology for the whole situation would have come if he questioned it at all. Picking up the third box, he opened it and found a vest inside. White and silk, utterly gorgeous. It seemed he really did have a nice taste. 

 

John returned with two glasses and a full bottle of something hopefully strong and expensive when Roger was opening the final gift with his name on it. It was the smallest of them all and upon opening it, he found it to be lighter with a dragon on it.

 

“Well, isn’t this fancy.” He mentioned, pressing down on the hold and watching as the flame shot out. 

 

“Got it in Japan on our last tour. You always said wanted something to show off while taking your cigarette break.” 

 

“I still smoke?” Roger asked. He hadn’t done so since he woke up and yet didn’t feel the familiar urge for a fag the way he used to. 

 

“On tour normally. Or while you’re writing. We’ve become somewhat of stress smokers only.” 

 

Roger bobbed his head, cutting the flame as he flipped the lid back on. He thanked John for the glass of wine, sipping at it slowly. It was delicious, as he expected and found he was somewhat pleased with the small collection of gifts he had been given. 

 

“Come on, John. Open up.” Roger insisted, gesturing to the pile with John’s name on them. 

 

John shook his head, leaning back on the couch. “Oh, no no. It’s quite all right.” 

 

“You sat there and watched me. Only fair I do the same to you.” Roger replied. He reached over, grabbing one of the boxes and tossing it onto John’s lap. “Come on! Let’s see what Santa got you.” 

 

John rolled his eyes, his lip forming a thin line as he tours the paper off ever so carefully, as if not wanting to ruin the lovely design. He lifted the lid of the box, finding a gaudy jumper inside. It was somewhat ridiculous and yet absolutely wonderful at the same time. “Now that is what I call high fashion!” Roger laughed, grabbing another box. 

 

Roger continued to pass him boxes, making little comments on everything he had been given. A set extra durable guitar picks. A handcrafted hairbrush that looked like it came straight out of a ladies magazine. Grabbing the final box, Roger shook it a bit, raising a brow to hear the things falling around loose inside. 

 

“Coal, perhaps? Have you been, naughty John?” Roger asked, sticking his tongue out playfully. 

 

“Cheeky bastard,” John commented, undoing the paper and opening the box, pausing when he saw what was inside. 

 

Roger leaned forward to get a better look, finding it to be nothing but scraps. “Did it break?” He asked, reaching inside to grab a piece of whatever had been placed inside. He dropped it, completely baffled.

 

John shook his head, his eyes widening. “No, no. It’s . . . I tinker.” He admitted. “I graduated with a degree in electrical engineering. I like to build things in my spare time. Amps and such.” 

 

“Someone got you a box of spare bits?” Roger asked him curiously. “Do you like it?” He watched as John gave a loose nod, his calloused fingertips gently brushing over the parts as if they would break in his hand. “Well, then. Happy Christmas to you, mate.” He raised his glass to John before downing the rest of his wine. 

 

He went to refill his glass, the sound of the grandfather lock in the corner sounding off catching him off guard. 

 

“Twelve o’clock on the dot,” John noted, carefully placing the box down on the floor with the rest of his gifts. 

 

“December’s over. Welcome to nineteen seventy-seven.” Roger mentioned, topping off his glass. He raised it towards John once more, who lifted his own glass that was still half full. “Happy New Year, John.” 

 

With a clink and a sip, the men sat back in their seats. 

 

“Happy New Year, Roge.” 

 

XXXX

 

True to their word, Brian and Freddie came by a few days later, ready to show Roger everything they had worked on prior to the accident. They sat in another room of the house, one that was apparently meant for private listening. John explained that after becoming more well known, they had to take their music seriously. It was fun and games, yeah, but writing hits took time and effort, so Roger suggested having a sound room where they could listen to music that would influence them. 

 

Sounded like a load of bullocks, but he didn’t argue. He just sat in a nice looking leather chair and listened to the records they played. They went one by one, from their first to the latest one they had put together. Freddie seemed to be having more fun with this than anyone. He was proudly showing off their work, making little comments here and there. 

 

He was obviously proud of their work and it was understandable, to say the least. They had a few good songs, some of which Roger was elated to see even came from his own hand. 

 

Except for one that just seemed far too unlike himself. It was an odd little number that came right out of one of their biggest albums yet. Roger knew his voice well enough to know it was most definitely him on the record, but the whole thing just baffled him.

 

“You honestly allowed me to write a song like this?” Roger asked, gesturing to the record player as the song played out. “What, was I high throughout nineteen seventy-five?” 

 

“Partially, darling,” Freddie admitted, swirling his wine glass around as he perked a brow up at the blond. “We tried to convince you otherwise, but you threw a fit. Locked yourself away like a stubborn child. It was utterly ridiculous.” 

 

Roger groaned as his own voice sang out the chorus of the tune, tossing an arm out to Brian who was leaning against the player. “God, change it already.” He muttered. 

 

Was this really what he had thought rock and roll was? Comparing women to a bloody automobile? Roger got stranger with age, that much was obvious.

 

Brian turned the noise off, as per Roger’s request, and the song that followed was much more pleasant on the ears. A bubbly little number that Roger would never consider to be rock and roll, but it had a nice beat and the lyrics were borderline romantic. Roger found himself rather partial to it, nodding to Freddie approvingly. 

 

“This one isn’t bad. Did you write it?” 

 

“Deacy did,” The older man mentioned, nodding over to John. “He’s the hopeless romantic we keep on hand.” 

 

Roger turned his head, looking to John (or Deacy as Freddie dubbed him) who was sitting in the corner. He hand his hand over his mouth, looking away through here from their distance, Roger could see his pale cheeks turning scarlet.

 

“That’s a pretty line,” Roger mentioned to the man. John watched him carefully, those gray eyes widening slightly. “Happy at home. Your home is a mansion, how could you not be happy?” The blond teased, turning his head towards Brian who scoffed at his comment. “What? It’s nice.” 

 

“You hated that line,” Brian revealed, smirking cheekily. “You said it wasn’t ‘rock and roll.’” 

 

“And the fucking car song was?” Roger mocked. “What, did I lose a few screws over the past seven years?” 

 

“We all have, darling. But insanity is in fashion now.” Freddie said, finishing his glass. “Brian! Enough of this. Show him _A Day At The Races_. I need to hear his opinion on _Drowse_.” 

 

“Should I be worried?” He asked, his question tilted towards John, who merely hummed in response. 

 

This was certainly going to be interesting.


	3. Chapter 3

It was a week into the new year that Freddie decided it was time to get back to schedule. John and Brian had been a bit more off-putting about it. After all, how could they be expected to put together an album when one of the members had no recollection of any of the songs. Freddie tried to reassure the group that it would all come back to him once they got down to it. 

 

“Music heals the mind, does it not?” He offered, swishing around the same way Roger remembered him doing. Always so fearless. Always without worry. 

 

Roger was envious. He wished he could hold his head up high and act as if none of this mattered. That he could walk into the studio and fake his way through it, but that wasn’t him. Perhaps over time, he had grown more careless, less reserved but even with the twenty-one-year-old mind frame that he possessed, Roger had no idea what the hell he was doing. 

 

It was just a rehearsal, a private one at that. Even if Roger couldn’t remember the songs, if he could at least pick it up again and play it the way Freddie wanted him to play, then they would be fine. Roger had the whole rest of his life to pick up the broken pieces of his mind. Right now they had an album to put together. 

 

“Are you going to agree to the song or not, Fred?” Brian asked, waving the sheets of paper around. 

 

“I’m thinking it over, Brian,” Freddie mentioned, twirling his pencil lazily between his fingers. “This is our sixth album. We can only put the best.” 

 

“When have I ever written anything that wasn’t the best?” Brian challenged. 

 

Roger, who was sitting at the far end of the table, leaned toward John, who was seated across from him. “Is it always like this?” He asked somberly. 

 

“Like what?” John replied, his eyes cast downward as he continued on with his writing. 

 

“The bouncing back and forth between what is on the album and what gets tossed aside?” 

 

John hummed, tilting his head upwards to look at the blond. “Every bloody album.” He admitted. 

 

Roger bobbed his head. He guessed with a band as large as they were, you had to choose the songs you believed would carry on their legacy. Putting something that wasn’t going to be a hit wouldn’t help him in any way, but who could really tell what would be a hit and what would be a flop? Being a rockstar was hard work, that much was clear. 

 

In Roger’s childish mind, he used to believe that all it took was a winning smile, a decent amount of talent, and a beat you could dance to. Now it seemed, with the changing of times, and themes, and musical styles, that you had to do everything you could to not only put your name out into the world but keep it there as well. 

 

“What do you have there?” Roger asked, turning his attention to the notepad that John was currently scribbling onto. 

 

Without a second thought, he reached forward, pulling it away from the brunet so he could take a look. Roger read through slowly, finding the lyrics to be interesting enough; perhaps even a bit inspirational. “You wrote this?” He asked, getting a bit of a nod from John. “I like it.” 

 

Taking the notebook, Roger tosses it into the middle of the table, the slap of the pad onto the hardwood catching the attention of the other two members. “John’s song goes onto the album!” He announced proudly. 

 

“You can’t choose a song by lyrics alone,” Brian told him, leaning over to look at the sheet. “You’d have to hear it first.”

 

“Well, then, let’s hear it. Do we have a recording?” 

 

“Just a demo,” John mentioned. “It’s the song you liked, Fred.” 

 

“ _Spread Your Wings_? Lovely tune, really. Sorry, Roger — no backing vocals on that one.” 

 

“All right,” Roger mentioned with a shrug. “Wait, is that normally something I’d care about?” 

 

“Darling, so long as you get to beat your drum, you’re as happy as a clam,” Freddie promised, patting Roger on the shoulder. 

 

“Why do I feel as though that’s a bit of innuendo,” Roger mentioned, getting a smile from Freddie in response. 

 

“Shouldn’t we be playing the demos for him rather than just going by what we know?” John questioned.

 

“The demos always sound like shit,” Brian argued.

 

“You said we can’t choose from lyrics alone. Unless you want us to play them outright, how else is Roger supposed to help in making the decision?”

 

“Oh, now that is an idea!” Freddie bounced his pencil onto the table. Roger watched as it flipped off and rolled onto the floor. He went through the sheets he had in his own pile, flipping through until he found one he liked. Passing it to Roger, he stood from the table. “Let’s play, shall we?” 

 

Pulling up from the chair and away from the table, Roger was brought into the next room over. All their instruments were placed so carefully. Any other time, Roger would want to inspect every part of the drum kit they had for him. It was a gorgeous piece and he wondered if it was handmade just for him.

 

However, Freddie was determined to kickstart this thing and wanted to get right to work. With the sheet in his hand, Roger sat down, reading over what he was meant to play. Brian counted it out before they began. It seemed simple enough. Roger began carefully, getting an ugly side-eye from the guitarist.

 

“Don’t speed up, Roge.” He said. The blond gave a stiff nod and started over, reminding himself to keep calm and just play the way it’s meant to be played. 

 

He tried to shake it off, tried to follow along with the rest of the band, but even he had to admit, the first run through was shit. The second wasn’t any better and by the third, Roger absolutely hated the song. 

 

The constant repetition was getting on his nerves rather quickly and by the time they finally called it quits, Roger was ready to chuck his drumstick halfway across the room. John approached carefully, obviously sensing the tension that was going through him.

 

“Do you want to take a break? Have a smoke?” He offered.

 

Roger hadn’t felt the need for a cigarette from the moment he woke from his coma, but he found that right now was the perfect moment for one. With a bob of his head, he moved from around the kit and followed John outside.

 

The dark-haired man pulled a pack of cigarettes from his jacket pocket, swearing softly when he realized he didn’t have a light. Roger went into his own jacket, pulling out the dragon lighter and using it to light up both their fags. 

 

“You brought it with you?” John asked, soundly slightly taken back. 

 

“It’s mine, isn’t it?” He asked carefully. “Figured I’d bring it with me in case I ever have the need to start a fire.” 

 

Leaning back against the brick wall of the building, Roger brought the cigarette to his mouth. It was smooth and slow, unlike the loose sticks he used to buy from the corner shop in uni. He looked outwards, not really having much of a sight to see, so he tilted his head forward to look back at John, who was gazing off into the distance. 

 

“Well, this is absolute shit, isn’t it?” He questioned aloud. “Number one band in the world comes crashing down all because the drummer can’t remember how to play.” 

 

“We’re not number one in the world,” John told him with a bit of a roll of his eyes. “Not yet anyway. And you’ll get it back, Roger. You’ve played the drums for years. That shit isn’t going to his disappearance.” 

 

“If I can’t play a song that is literally stomp-stomp-clap over and over again, how the fuck am I supposed to play anything else?” Roger asked, his eyes narrowing. 

 

He hadn’t always been this much of a pessimist. In fact, he had always been a rather hopeful lad. Growing up, always wanting more, Roger was ready and willing to do whatever it took to reach the stop. He knew it would be hard work to make his dreams come true, but he was ready for it. 

 

Now he felt more lost than ever. It was a sick game, this. Like someone was holding out everything he ever wanted, dangling close and every time he reaches forward, they pull it away, threatening to drop it. It was a cruel twist of fate and Roger found himself wondering if he had done something terrible in the past seven years to deserve such a horrible life. 

 

Rubbing the butt of his cigarette onto the wall, John pushed it back into the carton to finish later on. “Come with me,” He muttered, nodding his chin towards the door. 

 

Roger thought about blowing him off and remaining outside. Or maybe he’d fuck off altogether and go back to that beautiful mansion they shared but didn’t deserve. Instead, he flicked the fag onto the ground and followed John back inside. 

 

The brunet brought him into a room, flipping through the demo reels until he finally found one he approved of. He placed it on, letting the sound fill the room. The song was better than Roger had expected. Loud and jumpy. Very punk and full of energy. It was the type of song Roger would have blasted in his apartment while trying to study or play at a party when he just didn’t want to think anymore. 

 

“Now that’s a song!” He called out, smiling brightly to John. “Did Brian write it?” 

 

John’s long hair shook around him. “You did.” He answered. “Started it about three years ago, back when we were working on the album with the same name, but it didn’t really seem to fit and there were holes and such. You finished it as of recently, though I think Freddie will be taking over on lead vocals for it.” 

 

Roger shrugged. He liked hearing his voice, especially on a recording, but Freddie’s vocals weren’t comparable. Anything the man sang would turn into a hit and he seemed to still trust his friend enough to hand over that power. 

 

“I guess I’m happy I don’t just write about mechanophilia,” Roger mentioned, causing John to burst out laughing. It was a soft, sweet sound that pulled at Roger’s heartstrings in such an odd way. The blond shook it off, running his fingers through his hair slowly. “Looks like I’m going to have a lot of practicing to do.” 

 

“No more than you usually did,” John responded. “Brian is a perfectionist, but you’re not too far off. You always need every beat to be perfectly on tempo.” 

 

“Glad to know that not everything has changed.” He grumbled, his smile fading slightly. 

 

“Not everything,” John answered, offering a smile of his own. It was gentle and almost helpful.

 

Roger found John to have a nice smile, though he didn’t show it off much. He wondered why that was, but figured John was just the strong, silent type. Didn’t say much, didn’t smile much. Just came in, played his little bass, and then walked away while the other two did all the arguing. Roger wondered where he fit in.

 

They called it quits after that, deciding that one song was good enough. Roger left in defeat, locking himself away in his room for the rest of the day. John tried to get him to come out and talk, but there was no use. He was going to be a depressing little shit for the time being and his flatmate (mansion-mate) was just going to have to deal with it. 

 

When the following day came and went without a word from either Brian or Freddie, Roger thought that was it. They had enough of him. They would find another drummer and carry on without him. And Roger thought — good. It’s what they should do. 

 

Roger didn’t remember being apart of the band. Didn’t remember being apart of something bigger than he was. He didn’t remember that this band was his family and loved him, so he didn’t feel any anger or pain when he thought about the band dropping him. 

 

He understood. It was business. There was nothing more that. He would carry on. Or perhaps he wouldn’t. Perhaps he would just live off whatever royalties he had from their last five albums and continue to live in the mansion until the bass player got tired of him stealing all the beer and lounging around on the sofa. 

 

That was where he had been lying when he heard the doorbell ringing and the sound of the door swinging open. It was still early in the night. John had offered to cook for them but Roger wasn’t in the mood. He ate something he found in the fridge and contemplated whether or not he should just let his body go or keep his good looks up for the time being now that he wasn’t going to be in a band anymore. Roger would never be ugly, but perhaps he could give it a solid attempt? 

 

Pushing off the sofa, he went into the foyer to find both Freddie and Brian making their way inside. Both were dressed to impress, obviously spending their money on clothes someplace other than Biba. Roger could think about to all the times he and Brian used to swap outfits back when they lived in their tiny basement apartment. 

 

Looking at them both now, it was almost shocking to see that their fashion sense had grown as well as it had. Gone were the feminine styles that worked so well on them and in their place were tight leather, swoopy tops, and stylish jackets. 

 

“Where have you been? Brian rang you twice, but you didn’t answer.” Freddie told him, his hands falling to his hips as he gave him a once over. “Oh no, that simply won’t do. Where’s Deacy?” 

 

“Who?”

 

“John.” Brian clarifies.

 

“In his room, I suppose,” Roger answered, turning to face the rest of the house. He let out a long-winded shout, John’s name echoing through the place.

 

Roger turned back, noticing an odd exchange of expression between Freddie and Brian that he chose not to question.

 

“What’s going on?” John asked, appearing at the top of the stairs. 

 

“Get dressed, darling. Queen is going out for a night on the town!”

 

Roger craned his neck back to look to John, who took a few steps down before stopping and standing in the middle of the stairway. “Do you really think that’s a good idea, Fred?”

 

“Of course I do, darling otherwise I wouldn’t have suggested it in the first place,” Freddie replied laughing like this wasn’t the most ridiculous thing.

 

“It’s nothing too crazy. Only a few other big name people should be there but it’s listed party.” Brain explained. 

 

“That doesn’t make it better,” John replies, finally making it to the bottom of the stairs to greet them. “Roger won’t remember anybody he meets. Do you know how baffling that will be for him?”

 

“So we keep him busy! He can’t get confused if he’s on the dance floor.” 

 

“I don’t dance, Fred,” Roger told him. He paused, looking over Freddie’s shoulder to Brian. “Do I dance now?” The curly haired man swiftly shook his head. “Sorry. Don’t dance.” 

 

“Deacy will make you dance,” Freddie told him, smiling cheekily. “Come on! We haven’t gone out for some good old family fun in ages!” 

 

“For a good reason,” John argued. 

 

“Now look here. I know things look dim right but now I refuse to give up hope.” Freddie insisted. He stepped closer to Roger, placing a hand on his shoulder and holding Roger so they could look eye to eye. “I know my Roger is in there somewhere. We just have to shake this one to loosen him out. Like a genie in the bottle!”

 

“That’s rubbing, Fred. You rub the lamp to get the genie out.” John told him, looking and sound more tired than he had been before the other two showed up. 

 

“I’ll let you rub him down later, dear,” Freddie spoke again. John swore quietly, shaking his head at the man. “Right now, the night is ours. Go put on something wonderful.” 

 

Roger turned his head, looking at his bandages. John looked as unsure as a virgin on prom night while Brian was just smiling, going along with whatever Freddie was suggesting like he usually did. Roger just shrugged. Not like it could make the situation any worse. 

 

Roger went off to his room, changing into something nice. Lucky for him, it seemed his wardrobe was stocked with dozens of outfits that seemed perfect for parties. He wondered if they went to them often in the past few years. John has mentioned that he was more reserved than he was in his younger days, but Freddie seemed all the same. Always down for a good time. 

 

After checking and double checking himself in the mirror, spraying his body down with whatever bottle of cologne he kept on the dresser, and combing his hair this way and that way in order to conceal the scar across his temple, Roger gave himself an approving nod.

 

He might be older, he might be a little bit boring, and some of his songs were absolute trash but he was still hot as fuck. He was proud that hadn’t changed just yet. Returning downstairs, he found the other three waiting for him. John had reluctantly followed him up the stairs and went to his own room to change. His outfit of choice was nice, just like the other two. The four of them were dressed to the nines and Roger had to guess that was usual for the group. 

 

“Roger you look as gorgeous as ever! Now come on, the town car has been waiting.” 

 

Without another word, Freddie ushered the men out of the mansion and into the black car outside. It was luxurious and private, with comfortable seats and drinks in the back. Roger fought off the urge to chug the bottle down, trying to keep his nerves at bay. He knew it couldn’t get any worse but that didn’t mean it would get better. 

 

What if he did something wrong? Embarrassed himself in front of the wrong person? Revealed that he lost his memory? John was trying to calm him, a gentle hand rubbing at his shoulder as they sat beside one another. Roger caught himself leaning into the touch and promptly pulled away, his gaze lifting from the floor and falling onto Brian across the way. 

 

“Just relax, Roge. Everything is going to be fine.” The curly haired man said, “Just talk to whoever talks to you. Smile and nod along.” 

 

“I feel like I’m pretending to be someone I’m not. Like I’m putting on a show for strangers.”

 

“Putting on a show is what we do!” Freddie mentioned with a laugh. “This is no different, Roger. None of these people know you, they just think they do. So let them pretend. Smile pretty and laugh at their jokes. Wink at the girls and when the night is through the car will take you and Deacy back home.” 

 

“You’re not leaving with us?” 

 

“Freddie doesn’t go home after parties,” John commented. “Not to his home anyway.” 

 

“Well look who is feeling bold!” Freddie laughed, taking no offense to John’s cheeky words. “Easy for John. He hasn’t gone home alone in half a century!” 

 

While it was meant to be a sly, teasing remark, John looked anything but amused. Brian cleared his throat, turning his attention onto the lyric change he had made towards one of his songs. 

 

As far as Roger had been aware, both he and John were living single. He wondered if that was what Freddie was mocking — the two men were utterly, completely alone, obviously stuck together. God, could they become any more pathetic?

 

When they arrived at the party, Roger decided to do what he did back at uni and follow Brian around like a lost little duckling. It worked, for the time being, the two standing off in the corner with drinks in their hand. It was certainly exciting, seeing the way people treated them. 

 

Back when they were Smile nobody took them seriously. Barely anybody would come to their shows and when they did come, they were too drunk to fully appreciate the music. Now there were music executives telling them how great their last album was and pretty girls coming up to show off their skimpy dresses and giggle with excitement over meeting them.

 

Brian ended up fluttering off with some member of a band called AC/DC, leaving Roger on his own until John appeared by his side, drinks in hand. “Are our parties always like this?” He asked, taking the glass that John was offering. 

 

“Oh no. Queen parties are much more fun. This was thrown by the label. Paul — you are in a good fortune not to remember him — he is usually involved in these sort of shindigs. Usually, it’s just to cater to Freddie’s ego.” 

 

“Doesn’t seem very hard to do,” Roger mentioned, swallowing down the delicious taste of whatever it was that John has brought him as a refreshment.

 

“It’s not. You were very good at it, once upon a time.” John mentioned, offering a sliver of a smile before he sipped his own drink. 

 

Roger continued to people watch, noticing all the ladies looking their way. His face drained when a familiar realization came over him. “What if a woman comes up to me and I don’t remember her name? Will I come off like a prick if I don’t remember her?” Roger asked the man carefully. 

 

John watched him for a moment, choking back something. Maybe a laugh. Maybe a sob. The brunet shook his head, going back to his glass. “I don’t think you’ll have a problem, Roge.”

 

Roger raised a brow at the comment and the way John said it. Like it was almost a joke. God was he really that pathetic? Did he not have one night stands or girlfriends? Back in his teen years, Roger was a lady killer. He had a gorgeous smile, striking eyes. He wasn’t tough or threatening. He was the type of guy you could bring around to meet your mum and then have him fuck you to pieces. He did it all honestly. 

 

Now it seemed he was a lonely bastard who couldn’t offer anybody anything. Not as a band member, not as a mate, and not as a lover. 

 

Roger chose to down his drinks and ignore any other lingering thoughts he may have about himself that weren’t so very nice. It seemed the party had an open bar, which Roger found rather swiftly on his own. John followed and the blond guessed the bass player had taken it upon himself to keep an eye on the man and make sure he didn’t get into any trouble. 

 

It wasn’t too bad. The two sat together drinking, making sly little comments here and there. John pointed out this person and that person, anybody Roger should know the man of or at least have a vague idea of who they were. Most people that spoke to him were asking about the accident. They asked him this and that, some had the balls to make fun of him for wrecking the love of his life while others showed extreme sympathy for him. 

 

In the end, all of them seemed happy that he was alive and well. It was nice to hear, even if he had no real idea who any of these people are to him. Were they involved in the music industry? Were they involved in Queen? Were any of performers? Had he worked with them personally before? So many questions that Roger didn’t have the answer to. 

 

He had left his seat to head to the loo, getting a bit lost in the mess of the crowd. He spotted John again and waved him over. He was growing tired and the constant attention was wearing down on him and he found himself wanting to return to that giant mansion of theirs. 

 

Just was just about to meet John halfway through the floor when the brunet was cut off by another partygoer. She was shorter than him, even with the heels she was sporting. Her dress left very little to the imagination and Roger caught himself staring before finally snapping up to greet her.

 

“You’re the drummer right?” She asked, her accent delicate and sultry at the same time. “Heard you were in a bit of a crash.” 

 

“Yeah. I was.” Roger told her, lifting a hand to point out the scar on his temple. He had been trying to hide in the past few days, brushing his hair over to cover it up. Now it seemed cool, something to show off to a pretty woman. “I got the scar to prove it.”

 

“Poor baby. Have anybody to kiss it better?” She asked, stepping closer to him.

 

Roger beamed brightly. Maybe this wasn’t so bad. He didn’t remember if he had gotten with any ladies in the last seven years but if his teenage memory still stood he could probably give this gal a good show. 

 

“Roger.” The drummer lifted his head, blue eyes meeting gray that despite being so close, just seemed so distant. There was a hazy glimmer in the bass players gaze, something almost painful that Roger just couldn’t understand. 

 

“What, John?” If he wanted to leave, he could. Roger wasn’t going to hold him back. Even if their home has dozens of places Roger could bring this woman he couldn’t be cruel enough to take her back there. So he’d head to her place, though he’d have to find his own way home after that. Roger realized he didn’t know his own address but he’d worry about that later. 

 

John’s jaw clenched suddenly and he shook his head after a moment. “Doesn’t matter.” He mentioned, pushing past the two as he made his way through the crowd. 

 

Roger didn’t chase after him, choosing instead to look back at the delicious little thing in front of him. She was swaying to the music though Roger still refused to dance. He would happily watch her though, her body moving in that tight dress.

 

It must have been quite a while since he last got laid because Roger was revving and ready to go when Brian suddenly appeared, catching him by the shoulder. “Hey. What are you doing?” 

 

“What does it look like, mate?” Roger answered. “This is Crystal.” 

 

“Cheryl.” The blonde replied, pouting innocently.

 

Roger frowned, gesturing to his head. “Sorry, sweetheart. My head — you understand.” 

 

“ _Sweetheart_?” Brian mimicked, his eyes widening. “Where is Deacy?” 

 

“Do I look like his keeper?” Roger muttered, glaring at the man. He adored Brian and was glad the man was still his friend after all these years but the cock-blocking wasn’t needed right now. “Ran off that way,” he nodded towards the door, hoping that Brian would go off searching for the man so he could finally persuade Chrystal — Cheryl — to take him home.

 

Instead, the curly-haired man gave a disappointed sigh, grabbing hold of Roger’s jacket to drag him off. “What the fuck, mate?”

 

“Trust me, you don’t want to do that,” Brian commented, pulling him through the crowd and out the door.

 

“I am very certain I do!” He looked back, searching for the blond but the crowd had taken over the floor again. 

 

“No, you don’t.” Brian hissed at him. He turned back, the fire in his eyes stronger than he expected. “Whatever you have going on inside your head, ignore it. You don’t want this, Roger.” 

 

Once outside, Brian shoved him towards the black town car they arrived in. Freddie was standing outside, leaning against it, a cigarette held carefully in his fingers.

 

“All right boys. I think we had our fair share of fun for the night.” Freddie mentioned, tossing the fag aside so he could open the door. 

 

Roger placed his hands on his hips, looking absolutely ridiculous, all bitter and annoyed. When Freddie told him to get into the car, Roger glared at him. But rather than turning back and going to find that pretty thing in the short skirt he did as he was told. He climbed into the back of the town car, taking a seat beside John, he was staring blankly out the window. 

 

“What the fuck is their problem?” Roger asked him, though he got no response. 

 

John didn’t say a word. He just stared out the window, closing his eyes only when the other two hopped in. Roger watched John, waiting for him to break it say something when the others spoke to him, but he did nothing, said nothing. 

 

Roger turned his head, looking the other way as he fell into a similar silence. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Updating two days early due to high demand from a very persistent Gremlin. 
> 
> All following chapters will be posted between Sunday's and Monday's. 
> 
> Any questions, follow me on Tumblr (WriteYourOwnLifeStory) and send them my way. I answer everything.


	4. Chapter 4

John wants to forget. Wants to forget just as Roger has forgotten his him. But he couldn’t. He had shared the last seven years with this dense of a man. He had shared the last seven years becoming an accidental rockstar. It wasn’t like Deacy to give up on anything. Yet here he was, spending day after day questioning why he was still there, sharing a space with a man who didn’t even much of anything other than being the band’s bassist and his housemate. 

 

It took him days to try and wipe away the sight of Roger speaking to a woman. It was foolish of Deacy to be hurt. The drummer didn’t understand where John’s pain was coming from, therefore had no idea that the simple act of harmlessly flirting with a member of the opposite sex caused so much distress. He could barely look Roger in the eye during his days of jealous recovery. Roger, of course, had no idea and probably figured that John did not score at the party as he might’ve hoped. 

 

Who knows. Roger’s mind went blank on some of the happiest moments he had shared with the brunet, yet he was as sharp as a tack when it came to flirting; flashing his wicked smile and convincing a sweet little lady to spend the night and utter his name as one did to the Father at Sunday mass.

 

Just as John’s bout of jealous had subsided, he was called to the studio by the request of Freddie and Brian. Brian did not give him much information on the telephone. Just that he needed to leave Roger at home and that this conversation was long overdue. John had some inkling of what this was all about but he chose not to ask Brian on the phone or even be the first one to speak when the three men sat at least.

 

Brian was rubbing his hands nervously on the top of his lap. Freddie immediately pulled out a cigarette and lit it when he took his seat. John was not surprised when Brian was the first to speak.

 

“Freddie and I had a long chat the other night…after you and Roger left the party. And we..umm…” Brian raised a hand to pinch the bridge of his nose, his eyes wincing as if far too difficult to utter the next sentence. “We think it’s best to put the next album on hiatus.”

 

John does not respond immediately. The silence in the room is painful, but Freddie, noticing that John is still taking it all in, decides to speak, “It won’t be forever, Deacy. We just don’t think it's fair for Roger...for you. Even for us, to be at this when it’s like we are simply whacking our instruments at a brick wall.”

 

As mentioned, John doesn’t give up on anything. Yes, he might have a bit of an attack in the midst of whatever he set his mind to, but he was not a quitter. He would be damned if he gave up on this band...if he gave on Roger, who truly needed him. Needed all of them, he knew that much, to recover from his memory loss.

 

But no, this was not good. This was not happening. John has already lost his love and now, the only other thing that was keeping him here, the band and their music, was also being lost. God knows if the band takes a hiatus if they would ever return. If Roger’s memory would ever return.

 

“Give me a week.” He decided firmly, finally speaking. “Give me a week to jog his memory back.” His eyes darted up to meet with the two men he could so warmly call his best friends, yet, at this moment, their eyes...their faces looked so draining...so filled with an emotion that John knew all too well - the emotion that he knew oh so very well in his youth — _doubt_.

 

Freddie stood from his spot, cigarette already finished and discarded. To set ablaze a light and discard it so quickly in the system meant a desperate relief from stress. Freddie did not show such signs of such stress, aside from his doubtful eyes and discarded cigarette. “What Deacy? Do you think you can repair his memory _in only seven days_? Are you _mad_?”

 

“We need to try something...anything. Look! The doctors haven’t worked and throwing him back into practicing didn’t was a complete waste. It may not work, but isn’t it worth a try? I can’t go on like this…” John’s eyes darted to the floor, a hand coming across his chest to rub on the spot that gave him, like Freddie’s cigarette, some relief. “Maybe in the country…we could go back to the farmhouse rather than the studio…anywhere but here...it’s not working.”

 

Brian couldn’t help but shake his head at John’s suggestions, “I don’t understand any of this, John. This is the first time in weeks that you’ve said a word to us outside of practice. I understand this is hard for you because of your relationship with Roger but I’m not even seeing you interact with him.”

 

Freddie pipped in, “And what the all living hell was with you and him at the party? You storming off...him calling someone else his _sweetheart_. It is not like Roger to ever have his eyes wander when he knows he has you at home.”

 

John whined at the name. _Sweetheart_. Oh, how he wished for the day that he could hear that term of endearment directed at him instead of some blond bimbo. 

  
And then it happened. Brian raised a dark brow, his curly head dipping back as a harsh realization took over. “You never told him about your relationship…”

 

John swallowed hard, still unable to look at his two dear friends in the eye. “Music is his life. It has always come first. I was secondary. And if he can’t even remember that, I -” John squeezed the bridge of his nose as Brian did before to keep his emotions in check, “I don’t see the use of telling him about us.” John wrapped both arms around his chest, “No use…”

 

</3

 

_Beep. Beep. Beep._

 

_John spent all day, all night listening to the constant beep reverberating off the four corners of the white walls that held his love in limbo. His dear friends had offered to take turns watching over the blond but John put his foot down. He’d give his friends the time when John needed the hours to change into new clothes, tend to the garden at home or when Roger’s family came by to make their own rounds._

 

_But John was primary. Even though he did not share his reasonings other than he didn’t mind hospital chairs and crappy cafeteria foods, in actuality, he wanted to be the first when his love awoke. It was day three and John was in hell. Doctors were hopeful up to this point. After a long talk with one of the leads of Roger’s case, he concluded that the longer Roger was in a coma, the less likely it was for him to ever come out. John’s chest tightened and it took every bit of his being from climbing over the bed where his lover lay to grab the doctor by the collar and beg him for anything - any treatment - any procedure to make his dear wake up._

 

_And yet, he thanked the doctor with a firm handshake and slowly took his seat next to the sleeping beauty. It was the most terrifying thing of all. Seeing the man he loved, the man he adored above everything, attached with wires and tubes and all sorts of things._

 

_More often than not, John’s chair was facing in the same direction as Roger’s body - toward the wall that held a small TV and a paper with all his vitals - stable but unclear._

 

_This evening, however, John positioned his seat to face Roger. John watched as the doctor made his exit, waited for the click of the door close before he reached out and took Roger’s hand in his own._

 

_John was so often in his mind but at this moment, words began to spill from his lips that were all too often just scattered inside his cranium. “Did you hear what he said, love? I’m sure you did...you know, they say that unconscious people...they still are somewhat aware of what's going on. That’s why I’ve been reading to you. Your mum brought all your favorites. I’ll read them all to you.” John licked his lips, almost being careful with his words even though most people would think he is mad, watching his words with someone unconscious._

 

_“Rog - I…he said that the longer you sleep...the harder it will be for you to wake and I-God.” John tightened the grip he had on Roger’s hand, “Please wake up. I need you, yeah?”_

 

_John thought by squeezing a hand hard, tensing up his body, it would prevent the wetness from forming at the rims of his eyes. No use. Small droplets began to cascade from his lips as he began to beg for a miracle that may never come._

 

_“Please wake up. I need you. I need you to wake up. I will do anything if you just come back, you hear me? I will do whatever you want. I will come out. I will break up with you. I’ll leave the band. Fuck Roger, I’ll marry you if you ask. We’ll break every law to do it. I will do whatever you want. Just please….wake up?”_

 

_John lifted his shaking body up, leaning over to brush some stray hairs from Roger’s brow. A breathing tube restricted him from reaching his lips but John couldn’t even make it that far. The brunet, who rarely said a word - outwardly expressed feelings of grief, guilt - spilled the words out without any knowledge of how to control such intense emotions._

 

_His body began to shake violently, with his head falling onto Roger’s chest, wetness forming a pool on the hospital gown and his arms automatically adjusted themselves to wrap around the brunet’s sides as if holding him to dear life might jumpstart the mind._

 

_“_ **_Anything_ ** _.”_

 

</3

 

John did not share the entire contents of his breakdown to the boys, but he made his point clear. He had every intention of doing anything Roger had asked if he just woke up. And yet, when he woke and couldn’t remember a morsel of him, John took it as a sign of the intervention. After all, _he_ was the reason for Roger’s state. _He_ was the one keeping Roger from living a full and happy life. If given a second chance, wouldn’t you also let the love of your life live a better life? A new beginning, of sorts.

 

“He deserves to know, John.” Brian pressed on, straining in his seat. 

 

“He deserves to be happy. And I did not do that for him.” John told him, flexing his fingers against his knee. “You can’t tell him. Either of you. It may seem cruel and he may hate me, but I made my promise and I plan to keep it.” 

 

John had kept plenty of secrets for his bandmates. Things they had done and things they would surely regret, but he turned a blind eye to them without care because that was what friends did, what family did. And whether they wanted to or not, John knew they would not betray him, even if it meant, in a way, they were betraying Roger. 

 

Freddie did not like a word of it, that much was obvious. He let out a long, deep sigh before forcing John to look at him. “One week.” He decided. “We will go to the country.”

 

Brian placed a firm hand on Freddie’s shoulder to finish the statement, “But if it doesn’t work, you have to be the first to resign and agree to the hiatus.”

 

John knew it would be the end of him. How could it not be? If Roger’s memory didn’t return, then they’d both wide up worse than they were. Roger wouldn’t have Queen, and John wouldn’t have Roger. They’d both be losers in the end. 

 

But Queen didn’t have time for losers.

 

“Okay.” 


	5. Chapter 5

Roger didn’t know why he agreed to go. When John burst into his room and said they’d be leaving earlier than expected for their recording session, Roger should have told him to fuck off. There was no point in having him go when he couldn’t even remember the songs they were meant to be recording in the first place. 

 

John seemed optimistic than usual, which was strange as the last time they had truly spoken was the night of the party. He still didn’t understand the annoyance that came from the other three. He wasn’t attached to someone. Didn’t have a wife or kids to worry about. What was the problem with him going home with someone? 

 

Roger had met Brian’s wife Chrissie. He was glad to know the man had met someone and fell in love even if he couldn’t remember seeing it. He knew Freddie had been involved with someone, but that had ended some time ago. Now he was mostly living single, enjoying life to the fullest though Brian had mentioned he was somewhat partial to that snake of a man Paul that seemed to follow the lead singer just about everywhere. 

 

Roger wasn’t surprised when Brian explained Freddie swing both ways. He always had a way about him, as he would never be satisfied with living just one single way. 

 

John hadn’t mentioned if he was involved with anybody. No girlfriends to speak of and Brian hadn’t said anything about the subject. Roger chose not to question it. He didn’t know John well enough to be involved with his personal life. 

 

Roger didn’t know why he followed John into the car. Why he packed his bags and allowed himself to be dragged off to the countryside so they could record an album that Roger had no memory of. But he did. He guessed subconsciously this was what he was supposed to do. Be supportive and help his mates out, even if he felt like he was drowning in the unknown. 

 

The place wasn’t exactly as luxurious as the studios they were used to. It was a downright farm and the rooms they were staying in reminds him of his old flat in uni. John showed him to his room, which was upstairs adjacent from Freddie’s. Brian’s was across the way and John’s was apparently all the way down the stairs, in the bloody basement.

 

Didn’t seem very fair, keeping him so far off, but he guessed they just had to make room. 

 

Brian mentioned they hadn’t recorded in the farm since they did A Night At The Opera, having chosen to go back and forth between studios in London or Munich, but they decided to bring the band here in hopes of being in such an important place would wake something inside of Roger. 

 

The blond wasn’t as optimistic as John or Brian or Freddie. He felt the opposite, actually. Roger had been thinking of it a lot since their last rehearsal. Nothing was coming back to him. No songs. No lyrics. He was overlooking some of the songs they had chosen for the album and found himself hating some of the choices they made. Nothing made sense. He knew he had grown as an artist but he was still lost in his twenty-one-year-old mine frame. Along with student just trying to make it big and wanting to make a difference. 

 

But the difference was already made. Queen was one of the most popular bands in the world and yet Roger felt like he wasn’t even apart of it anymore. How the fuck did the others except him to go on when he couldn’t even remember anything? When he couldn’t even play the songs right or sing the lyrics that were written?

 

Everything seemed so lost on him and Roger was having the hardest time coping with the fact that he’d have to let go of everything he had worked so hard on.

 

John has grabbed it when they arrived, allowing Roger to settle in before taking him into the sitting room. He had a box on his lap, an old hat box from Biba that he was proudly showing off. “You used to have this old camera, and would run around taking pictures of everything,” John confessed, lifting the lid of the box. 

 

Inside sat dozens of Polaroid pictures. John lifted a few up, passing them off to the gold to see. Most of them were rather candid, some of his younger days and others that seemed more recent. Roger was smiling in all of them. He always did smile nicely in front of the camera. His sister used to joke that he was made for the limelight. He never disputed that statement.

 

“This here was after we found out our song hit number one,” John mentioned, gesturing to one of the pictures of the four of them, all smiling and happy and young. “We got locked in the lift that night, we were so excited. Quite funny actually.” 

 

Roger tried to imagine it. The four of them trapped inside a life, having jumping up and down from pure happiness. It seemed so ridiculous, and maybe at the time it was. Roger took the box from John, beginning to go through it on his own. He asked John this and that, when the pictures were taken and who some of the people in then were. 

 

He paused at one, holding it up with bright eyes. “Is that Elton John?” He muttered.John gave an approving nod, his grey eyes glimmering with pride. 

 

_Your Song_ had been one of the last songs Roger remembered hearing. It was romantic and dramatic and while it wasn’t exactly rock and roll Roger adored it. It seemed the man’s career had continued to grow, just like his own.

 

Roger skimmed through other pictures, stopping when he caught sight of another. It was of John and Roger, and while at first glance it seemed innocent enough but Roger could see there was more to it. Just the two men, their eyes locked and the expressions on their faces utterly content. Every smile Roger has in the pictures was fun and boyish but there was something different about this one. Something Roger couldn’t put words to. 

 

Roger put the picture back inside the box, putting it down onto the floor as John passed him over a scrapbook of sorts. Inside were different articles and interviews. Good and bad comments about the band and their never-ending musical styles. Roger didn’t know why the brunet would want to keep things that spoke badly about them but John argued it was an inspiration. 

 

“Every time we succeed I look back at these and have a bit of a laugh.” He confessed, offering a whisper of a smile that didn’t seem half as interested as it was in the picture Roger had seen just moments ago. 

 

“I also have some of our music videos. Thought you’d like to see yourself in action,” John mentioned, holding up the tapes proudly. 

 

“John, why are you doing this?” Roger asked, at last, needing to know why he was trying so hard to show him all these things.

 

John’s cheeks turned a bit scarlet and he broke their eye contact look at the floor. “You may not remember anything that happened between us, but we were very good friends before the accident,” John answered him. Roger could practically see him thinking, choosing his words so very carefully. “I . . . I care about you, Roge. And I don’t want to give up on you or your future with the band. I thought if you saw all of this, saw yourself with the band, it might spark something inside you.” Shaking his head, John pushed the boxes of tapes away, his arms crossing tightly over his chest as he leaned against the couch. “So bloody stupid,” He whispered to himself. 

 

Roger’s felt a tightening in his chest as John leaned away, another pained expression across his far too lovely face. Roger had been feeling so low about himself, he didn’t even think about how the others were going through this. This band was a family and yet were all trying so fucking hard to make him feel a part of it and all Roger did was pout and curse every step of the way. 

 

“It’s not stupid, John.” Roger insisted, moving closer to him. He placed a hand on the man’s shoulder, waiting until the brunet looked at him before speaking. “You’re trying and I appreciate it. Honestly, I do!” Roger reached up, touching at the scar above his forehead, rubbing it gently with his calloused fingers. “I’m fucked in the head. It’s not an excuse but . . . I don’t want you to think I’m not grateful for everything you do for me.” He gave his shoulder a quick, reassuring squeeze. “We’re mates, right?” 

 

“Mates. Yes.” John answered quietly. 

 

“So thank you for putting the effort in,” Roger told him, even if he knew deep down it didn’t seem like it was going to change anything. 

 

Still, he would give John the benefit of the doubt and allowed him to show off all the music videos they had made up to that point. Some of them were fine on their own. John had explained that most of them had to be mimed, which just seemed overly ridiculous to the drummer. Even if he wasn’t the best at it right now, he knew how to play his instruments and should be given the chance to do just that. 

 

He had to admit, it was quite exciting to see himself on Top of the Pops, as well as hearing people sing their songs back to them, though it was mostly just them singing back to Freddie. The man had so much charisma off stage, that on it was completely indescribable. Roger for the most part just sat back with his drum kit and played. 

 

And he played well. He had gorgeous clothing on, most of the time he was shirtless with an open vest with some sort of necklace hanging between him. He’d have eyeliner on, sometimes other makeup. He looked good, he was impressed. 

 

John looked good as well. There were times when he’d just stand there with his bass, tapping a foot and such, but then other times when he could have given Freddie a run for his money with the moves he had. They all looked good on stage and it was obvious they worked together. Most bands had the tendency to fall apart of begin hating one another as the years went on, but they stayed strong in the past seven years. 

 

Roger just wished he could remember being a part of it. 

 

Later on, after watching video after video, including some of the most recent ones, Brian had joined him and John in showing Roger all the music that he had written thus far. It was obvious he wasn’t as lyrically talented as the others, as each album only had a song or two of his own. Six in total, not counting the selection that he had comprised for the album they were still working on. 

 

They were good songs (not counting the one that envisioned him being intimate with an automobile) and he was proud to have written and performed them, but he wouldn’t be lying if he said he wasn’t a bit ashamed that each member had so much more to offer lyrically. Even John who didn’t sing a lick on the album had more songs under his belt. 

 

He went through his own notebook, reading over the lyrics he had written down for all his past songs in his signature style of scribble. He paused when he came upon a song he hadn’t heard on any recording and passed the notebook over to Brian. 

 

The curly haired man read it over, giving him an approving nod. “That’s your solo work, mate.” 

 

“Solo?” Roger asked, looking over the page once again. 

 

“You were planning on putting it out as a solo single on your own,” Brian answered him. 

 

He seemed so . . . calm about it. Wasn’t solo work a death sentence for bands like this? And yet neither John or Brian looked upset over it. They just shrugged it off and continued to tune their guitars. 

 

“Is no one going to explain to me why I was going to do a solo album?” Roger demanded, slamming the notebook onto the coffee table. 

 

“It wasn’t an album, mate. Just a song. You were working on it for a while and wanted to do it on your own.” 

 

“And nobody had an issue with it?” 

 

“Why would we?” Brian looked past Roger, his eyes locking with John’s across the way. 

 

“It’s really not that big of a deal, Roger,” John told him softly. 

 

“Of course it’s a big deal! I was walking away from the Queen!” 

 

“You weren’t walking away from anything, Roger.” Brian insisted carefully, adjusting his sitting so he was facing the blond now. “Sometimes we have songs that we just want to do on our own. We don’t take offense to that. We’re always going to be different. Hell, look at John and me! All he ever wants to do is add synthesizers and disco beats and me-“

 

“-add a guitar solo to every song you think needs one, which is usually all of them,” John answered. His reply was serious, but there was an amused glimmer in his eyes.

 

Roger looked between the two, feeling lost in the traction. “We’re a family, Roger,” Brian spoke wisely. “We’re always going to be there for one another. Always going to support one another, even if we’re not involved one hundred percent.” 

 

“Have you ever thought about going solo?” Roger asked Brian. “Or has Freddie? He could do it. And so could you. And you,” He turned his head, looking to John. 

 

“I can’t sing,” John told him quietly. 

 

“You still have the talent! You all do. And so do I. So maybe . . . if I don’t get out of this funk — if my mind is forever lost — after this album is completed, you three can go off and do what you want. Maybe this album will be the last for Queen, but that doesn’t mean it will be the last for you.” 

 

Roger pushed off the couch then, hurrying out of the room. Brian called after him, but he ignored it all, deciding to retreat up to the tiny room he had been given. He had enough excitement for the day. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Back on schedule. Happy now?
> 
> Also, if you can name the song Roger finds without having to look it up, you're a true RT stan.


	6. Chapter 6

_A sense of relief came over the blond as he walked into the house. It had only been a week since they moved in, but being able to say that he had a home — a mansion — a place that wasn’t a loft or basement or tiny little apartment he shared with four other men brought a swell of pride to him._

 

_He was still getting used to owning something so big. Of course, the name on the house was not his own — they had a long talk about that and decided that the other was just a tad bit more responsible and had a better record when it came to showing interest in buying._

 

_The land was long and gated. Roger’s cars looked absolutely wonderful parked out front. He had bought most of them cheap, hoping to spruce them up a bit and show off. Brian had mentioned that it was a bit too early to be buying such showy things, but the blond just told him of fuck off._

 

_They worked hard and deserved to have something to call his own. So when it came time to decide that he wanted to settle down somewhere in between touring and press released, Roger couldn’t think of anywhere else he’d rather do it._

 

_Roger walked through the door, shouting out to make his presence known. In his hand was a bouquet of flowers. Red roses, cut fresh just for his beloved. He kicked off his shoes in the corner and hanging his coat up on the hook, he let out another yell._

 

_“Come on, sweetheart. Hiding from me already?” He laughed through his words._

 

_The place was big enough for the two of them. Large rooms and halls that echoed. Roger spent a good time using it for vocal practice while they were still debating whether or not to take it and it was that echo that carried his voice so nicely was what convinced him._

 

_Hopping up the stairs, he paused, leaning against the banister. “Come out, come out wherever you are!”_

 

_“I’m not hiding!” The fair voice called out from down the hall. Roger knew the direction all too well — their bedroom._

 

_Practically skipping along the way, Roger swung the door open with so much excitement and flair, his smile absolutely beaming as he spotted his love, waiting for him on the bed. “Hello, sweetheart.”_

 

Roger woke with a groan, his eyes blurry as he forced himself to sit up. His head was fuzzy and he felt like he had been woken from something more than a dream. Everything about it seemed so familiar, incredibly the home that he had been staying in as well as the uniquely sweet voice that Roger just couldn’t seem to place.

 

He chalked it up like a dream, choosing to get up off the bed and begin his day. He groaned, rubbing his heads as he searched around for the small dresser his clothes had been shoved into.

 

He continued to tell himself that he had to start wearing his glasses when he wasn’t on stage but always found that it was hard to persuade himself to do so, especially since he absolutely hated the way he looked in them. He wasn’t like Elton John who made the eyewear apart of his specific style. 

 

Roger knew he packed them along the way, but told himself he’d find them somewhere at a later time. Dressing, Roger made his way downstairs, following the smell of cooked sausage and coffee that filled the farmhouse. 

 

“Well, good morning sunshine!” Freddie called out from where he stood in front of the small stove. 

 

Roger had always been the designated cook of the group back when they lived in their little shack of a home. Mostly because he had been taught by his mother and if you were the one cooking, then you weren’t the one who had to clean up. 

 

John and Brian were already seated, their plates half empty as they skimmed through the morning paper. 

 

“Sleep well, Roger?” Freddie asked, turning to press a cup into his hand. 

 

He didn’t know he had switched from coffee to tea in the past years, but he welcomed the caffeine into his system, drinking slowly before taking a seat across from the other two. 

 

“Yeah, yeah. Fine.” He mentioned, rubbing the back of his neck. 

 

“I don’t know how we put up with these beds back in our younger years,” Brian mentioned as he sipped from his mug. 

 

“Because we were young and desperate and we were recording an album. They could have had us sleep in that ugly van we used to drive around in.” Freddie mentioned, placing a plate down in front of Roger. 

 

“I had the strangest dream. Running through my house with flowers, looking for someone.” 

 

“Sounds like fun.” Freddie winked, looking to Brian across the way. “We should write that down. Inspiration for a music video.” 

 

“Was I involved with anybody in the past few years?” 

 

There was a small clinking of silverware through the men and Roger watched as Freddie looked to John, while John looked at whatever he was reading. Brian looked over to Freddie before speaking up. “Involved how, Roge?” 

 

“Involved! Did I have a girlfriend or anyone I brought home?” 

 

“Well, I’m not too sure. Did he ever bring anyone home, John?” Freddie asked, watching the bass player with a quirked brow. 

 

John didn’t say a word, instead choosing a glare at the man before pushing up and away from the table. “Excuse me. I have an appointment to get to.” He spoke, leaving the kitchen in a huff. 

 

This was the second time John had run off and Roger was beginning to wonder if he had done something to piss the man off. 

 

“I’ll never understand him. One moment we’re off to a great start and the next he’s all pissy and hurrying out of sight.” Roger mentioned, rubbing his head with his hands. “Were we ever even that close?” 

 

“Incredibly,” Freddie said, tossing John’s plate into the sink. “Being the youngest you both used to fool around a lost. Brian! Remember how they used to joke around and laugh about the silliest of things?” 

 

“Two morons in a rock band together,” Brian muttered with a sigh. “You didn’t have a girlfriend, Roge. I promise you that.”

 

“It seemed so real,” Roger mentioned, thinking back to what he had dreamt about. 

 

It was him, he knew that for fact and all the emotions he had felt were too real to ignore. The pride that swelled when he entered his home and the happiness and bliss when he heard that sweet voice call out to him. He hadn’t seen who was in that room waiting for him, but whoever it was owned his heart completely. 

 

“Should I see if he’s all right?” Roger asked, his head turning towards the door John had just exited out of. 

 

“Let him be,” Freddie mentioned, taking the seat that John left behind. 

 

“Roger, I know this is hard for you, but you and John were close. Very close. For the past five years, you two were inseparable.” 

 

“Seven,” Roger replied to him. He was missing the past seven years of his life. 

 

Brian turned his head to Freddie, unsure of how to answer. 

 

“What Brian is trying to say is that Deacy is full of these memories that you have no recollection of. Little jokes you two used to share and all that. Don’t be surprised that John isn’t handling this very well. After all, he’s always been rather sensitive.” 

 

“This whole situation is a bit mucky for us all, Roge. We’re all having a bit of a fight on the inside.” Brian mentioned, standing to refill his cup. 

 

“Yes! What Brian said. After all, you can’t win with your feet tied.” 

 

“Hands tied,” Roger told him, pinching the bridge of his nose. 

 

“What's that?” 

 

“The line is you can’t win with your hands tied.” 

 

Freddie sat up, narrowing his eyes at the drummer curiously. “And how would you know that?” 

 

“Because I wrote the damn thing!” Roger answered, pausing when he realized what he had just said. He began thinking it over, again and again, and again until it finally hit him. “I wrote that song.” 

 

“You all right, Roge?” Brian asked carefully. 

 

“That’s my song!” 

 

“Brian, I think he’s having a breakthrough,” Freddie mentioned, his lips turning into the wide smile that Roger knew very well. 

 

“Christ, I remember it. That — that jangly guitar riff. You said I’d have to do it on my own and I . . . I borrowed your guitar for the demo! I took one of John’s basses too!” 

 

Roger tried to think more, but this was all that was on his mind. Hurrying out of the kitchen, he went down to where they kept his drum kit. Counting it out, he began playing, just the way he wanted it. Roger was satisfied with the way the song was played and agreed to do it on his own on the demo just to get a feel of it. Freddie was fine with him doing the majority of the work as he and Brian had their own songs to worry about. 

 

He had been working on this when he wrote _I Wanna Testify,_ which Freddie was also okay with him doing on his own. They had that way about them. Music was their sacred place and it could either be the thing that destroyed them or made them better people. Roger liked to believe for them, it would be the latter. 

 

Brian and Freddie followed after him. The taller man picked up the guitar to play along with Roger to give the man a sense of correction while Freddie watched from afar, nodding with approval. 

 

When they took a break, Roger tried to see if he could remember anything else but came up empty. The only thing in his mind was this and while he was left unsatisfied knowing there was so much more missing, Roger took it as a win to know that it wasn’t completely lost on him. 

 

The three practiced a bit more, throwing in _We Will Rock You_ just so Roger could get a handle of staying on beat. It was far better this time around, with Roger finally catching the tempo that the boys are looking for. 

 

When they finally called it quits, it was later in the day. Freddie went off for a bit on his own, going to admire the countryside. No one else was coming to the house until the end of the week, allowing them to have it all to themselves. Brian went to call Chrissie (Freddie mocking him for the apparent attempt at phone sex), leaving Roger to fend for himself. 

 

He lurked around the house like a lark, trying once again to get used to a place that he knew was familiar, he just couldn’t place it. All the animals outside and the smell of the fresh air didn’t exactly scream ‘recording studio’ but he guessed you just had to be creative if you were going to continue pumping out hit after hit. 

 

He was sitting on his bed, reading the paper that he had stolen from Brian when heard someone shuffle inside, the door slamming loudly enough to catch his attention. He walked down the stairs and in towards the kitchen where John was unloading groceries he had brought in. 

 

Freddie had sent Paul out to gather a few things before their arrival (and Brian promptly sent him away afterward because this was a band issue — something Paul was _not_ apart of), but the man only picked up a few things. Roger overheard Brian bitching about it and Roger guessed the bass player had taken it upon himself to gather the rest of the things they needed. 

 

Roger made his way into the kitchen, preparing to lend a hand, even if he had no idea where anything was supposed to go. He opened his mouth, prompting shutting it when he caught sight of John. 

 

“Hells above! Deacy, what did you do to your _hair_?!” 

 

Gone were the lusciously long locks that Roger had gotten used to seeing, and in its place was a short little cut that made John’s face look rounder and somehow older. John paused what he was doing, turning to gaze at the blond, those gray eyes widen and aware. 

 

Without even realizing it, Roger lifted a hand, running his fingers through the new style of his bandmates' hair. Roger didn’t know why it bothered him so. No, no. It didn’t bother him, per se. When things bothered you, that meant you hated it to some degree. Roger didn’t hate this in the least. He was taken back, sure, but the style looked good on John. 

 

Then again, in the back of his mind, Roger found that John was the type of man that could pull off any style and make it his own. He was just that type of person. 

 

“This is what you were doing all day?” Roger asked, his fingers still grazing the dark locks. 

 

“And shopping,” John mentioned, lifting up the bread he was carefully cradling in his hands. “I . . . I’ve been thinking about cutting it for a while. Had no reason to not to.” 

 

“Were you there when I decided to destroy my own head?” He questioned, only now pulling away. He turned towards the bags that John had carried in and promptly moved about to begin putting the rest of the items away. 

 

“Oh um. No, you did that on your own.” John told him, catching him carefully. 

 

“Are you saying I can’t be left to my own devices?” Roger raised a brow to him, his smile teasing as he placed the eggs carefully into the fridge, followed by the cheese and meat that John had sprung for. 

 

“Your words, not mine,” John answered, turning to face away from him. They worked together, emptying out the bags until everything was put away. When they were finished, Roger beamed with a boyish glimmer, going to start up the coffee machine so he could make himself a cup. 

 

“Why did you call me that?” John asked, catching Roger off guard. “Deacy?” 

 

“Oh.” To be completely honest, Roger hadn’t thought about it. The pet name just slipped out suddenly; he had heard Freddie and Brian use it often enough, so he guessed he did as well, prior to all this. “I don’t know. I’ve heard the others use it. Thought I would do. What does it mean?” 

 

“My last name is Deacon,” John answered dryly. 

 

“Ah. None of you called me Rogey, did you?” 

 

John let out an amused snort, shaking his head. His hair wasn’t long enough to shake around him, but he still looked as lovely as ever. 

 

“Fairly certain you would have knocked out lights out if we did.” 

 

“Right about that,” Roger mentioned, slamming his hand down eagerly when he remembered what John had missed.

 

He told John all about it, practically shouting the lyrics in the poor man's face as he sipped at his coffee. John had been his number one supporter from the beginning and he wanted him to know that even if he didn’t remember everything just yet, things were coming back to him. Roger wasn’t a complete waste of time. 

 

“My head isn’t completely screwed off!”

 

“Nobody ever said it was, Roge,” John told him carefully, his smile proud as they sat together. 

 

“You know, I sort of realized that while I don’t write a lot of songs, the ones I do all seem to have this great meaning behind it. Now granted, I can’t remember the meanings to all of them, but I like knowing that I don’t write these fluffy little ditties that would disappear before they can even make radio play.” 

 

“You’re a good musician, Roger. Lyrically and instrumentally.” 

 

“As are you,” Roger mentioned, nodding over to the man. “Though, I must admit, quite a few love songs for a single man.”

 

John shifted in his seat, turning his head away. No longer did he have his long, dark hair to hide any into, giving Roger all the more chance to see how the man’s fair skin quickly changes under the pressure put onto him. 

 

“They’re not all love songs.” 

 

“ _You’re My Best Friend_? _You & I_? _Misfire._ ”

 

“No, no. _Misfire_ was _not_ a love song!” John insisted. 

 

Roger could only smile, watching as the man continued to wiggle in his seat, hot under the pressure of it all. 

 

“I’m just saying. You aren’t in a relationship, so where does the inspiration come from?” 

 

“As Freddie said, I’m the romantic they keep on hand.” 

 

“Oh come on! I’m a romantic. Well, I was and I am sure I still am yet none of my songs are about someone else unless that someone is getting into a fight.” 

 

“Roger, please,” John muttered, standing to his feet, intent on leaving the room. “It’s not important.”

 

“Why do you always run from me? Fred and Brian, they said we were friends, but it doesn’t seem like it, Deacy.” 

 

Roger knew he was being a bit annoying, a bit unreasonable. He felt like there was this barrier between himself and John and every time Roger got a step closer, something knocked him three steps back. 

 

“What do you want me to say, Roger?” John asked, suddenly far more serious than Roger had expected from him. The topic wasn’t exactly light and fun but it was also just him being a bit of an annoying bitch.

 

Now John was staring at him, those gray eyes hard and his jaw locked. 

 

“I was in a relationship. Five years. Are you satisfied?” 

 

“Oh.” Was all Roger could muster. He hadn’t expected that. John was a quiet person mostly and while Roger wouldn’t have called him sad, the only things he knew about him were what he had learned in the past few weeks. “Was it . . . did you break up?” 

 

John shook his head, his hands falling to his lips. “I . . . yes. No. I don’t know, all right? All that matters is that he’s gone. And all the songs I’ve written about him are meaningless now. They fall to deaf ears and I’ll never play them the same way again. Happy now?” 

 

John left the room then. Roger had lost count on how many times John had walked away from him in the follows days but it didn’t seem to matter now. Roger sat alone in the kitchen, with a cold cup of coffee and no idea where to go next. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This story has officially been written, so the new schedule will be Monday's and Fridays. 
> 
> Please tell us what you thought. We live to know!


	7. Chapter 7

_It was raining. It was always bloody raining. Why the fuck they all agreed to stay in London was beyond Roger. Sure, it was the best city in the world to him, with the fashion and the people and the culture. But it was wet and dreary more often than not._

 

_Roger was being lazy, lounging in the early morning. He knew he should be getting up, getting in the shower, and getting ready for work, but he persisted. The bed was warm and the pillow was soft. The comforter was scratch due to constant use and a terrible washer at the mat across the way. The bed was almost barely big enough to fit the two of them, but neither complained much._

 

_After moving in together and establishing that this was what they wanted, they had attempted to push the beds together, to no avail. In the bed, they sold the second one, using the petty cash they got for it as rent so they had another month where they didn’t have to worry about it all._

 

_Roger hummed softly, feeling the arms wrap around him slowly. He hadn’t been much of a cuddlier with the girls he brought home. He liked the contact, but sometimes the bed got too hot or they were too clingy. Roger sometimes preferred to sleep alone, but that was over now. Sleeping alone was lonely and for a man still so fresh into a relationship (yes, that was what they had, one hundred percent) he didn’t want to think about sleeping alone ever again._

 

_“You have to get up.” The voice was low, almost mumbled. Sleep making the lovely accent far harder to understand and yet Roger found himself smiling._

 

_“_ **_We_ ** _.” He replied. “We have to get up.”_

 

_They may have just put out an album, but they still had to work. He and Freddie would hurry off to the market, where they would put on smiles and sell whatever needed to be sold. The other two would go off to their own jobs and in the end, they’d meet up again for supper and maybe a round of Scrabble._

 

_“We do have to get up,” His bedmate agreed._

 

_Roger was pulled in closer, the warmth of the body spooned up behind him making it all the more likely that neither would be getting out of bed just yet._

 

_“Roger,” Roger had always liked his name, but only on this tongue, with that accent, had the blond found himself utterly and completely enthralled with the sound of his own name._

 

_“Fuck it,” Roger rolled over, his smile beaming as his bedmate fell into a small fit of giggles. Gentle arms wrapped around the blond, welcoming him in as Roger cuddled closer._

 

_They were young, and dumb, and completely in love. And they could handle being late._

 

Roger woke once again in a bed that was small and a comforter that was scratchy, but unlike before, he was utterly and completely alone. It was a cold feeling, going from such a warm, loving moment to having nothing to wake up to. 

 

It annoyed him to no end. Even when he got out of bed and made his way into the shower, when the lukewarm spray covered his face, he found himself ticked off over something he had no control over. 

 

He stayed there for longer than necessary, turning practically pruney until Brian began banging on the door, demanding that he stop wasting all the water. He toweled off, sitting naked on his bed as he contemplated what to do with himself. 

 

He couldn’t explain it, but he was filled with an unbolted rage that seemed to appear out of nowhere. Annoyed aggression that he couldn’t seem to handle. He began pacing in his room, pulling on his clothes as he tried to figure out what to do with all of this. 

 

He found that his glasses had been set on the nightstand beside his bed, though he had no recollection of leaving them out. He had been so used to squinting during his life that he forgot his glasses more often than not and yet here they were, sitting out for him. Like they had been placed there specifically for him to find them. 

 

With a heavy sigh, he pulled them on, blinking after a moment before making his way down the stairs. Heading into the kitchen, Roger found himself alone. Physically. Mentally. Emotionally. And literally. The others were nowhere to be found and Roger certainly wasn’t in the mood to go searching for them. 

 

So he did the last thing he could remember doing when he felt like this. He went down to his drum kit, took hold of the sticks, sat down on the tiny little seat and took out all the harsh emotions that were running through his body out on the drums. 

 

He had done this ever since he learned to play. He had to thank his mum for that. He was so much energy when he was a child that he needed an outlet. Of course, he was sure she wished they had settled on something a bit quieter, but it got the job done nonetheless. He would sit down on his bench and rattle the sticks against the drums and cymbals until he felt tired and numb. 

 

He was doing that now, playing whatever song was going off in his head. Or maybe it wasn’t even a song. Just endless bangs and beats and off-tempo slamming. He was singing or maybe he was screaming. He went on and on until his hair was sticking to his forehead and his shirts clingy to his body as sweat began to glisten his body. Until his drumsticks were cracked and there was an echoing in his ears and his hands were glistering and cracked. 

 

Roger didn’t know how long he had been going for, but eventually, he found himself satisfied, feeling less pathetic and empty. Standing from the kit, Roger clenched and unclenched his hands, hissing at the raw and rough feeling that he had brought on himself. 

 

He hadn’t done this in years, not since he was fresh into uni and trying so very hard to impress Tim with his playing when he auditioned for him and Brian. Then again, with the longtime missing, it was possible that he had done this only recently. Caused his aging hands to hurt so damn much. He just didn’t know anymore. 

 

Heading back up the stairs, Roger made his way into the kitchen, bumping into John along the way. Whatever the man was holding fell to the ground and Roger let out an exasperated sigh as he bent to retrieve them.

 

“Sorry, mate.”

 

“It’s fine, Roger.” John knelt beside him, gathering the papers that were scattered along the floor. Roger took everything he had picked up, holding them out as an offering. John took them, pausing when he noticed how red and raw Roger’s palms were. 

 

“How long were you playing for?” He asked bluntly. 

 

Roger gave a short shrug of an answer. The blond watched as John’s calloused fingertips grazed carefully over the bruised skin. Standing to his feet, John pulled the drummer over to the sink, turning on the tap and letting the cool water run over the harsh, burn like blisters. 

 

“Just stay here,” He said quietly before shuffling off. Roger stood, letting the cold water numbed his hands until Roger reappeared. He cut off the tap and pat-dried his skin before leading Roger over to the table where he had the first aid kit ready. 

 

Without a word, John got to work. Popping the blisters and disinfecting any open sores. He was moving his hands so gracefully, Roger didn’t know what to say at first. John’s hands were ligand his fingers were long. His skin was bruised from playing such a harsh instrument and yet he was so gentle with Roger. Taking his time to care for him in a way Roger never had before. 

 

“Did you do this a lot?” Roger asked, nodding forwards the kit. 

 

“We both did. Helped one another out when we played for too long.”John answered, giving a bit of a laugh then. “I’ve been known to snap picks in half, so I tend to just use my fingers.” 

 

“Is that why you got a new set for Christmas?” Roger asked. 

 

John hummed, taking out the ointment and wrap so he could continue on helping him. “Something on your mind?” John questioned instead. “You normally only go this hard if something is bothering you.” 

 

“You pick up a lot, I guess,” Roger noted. He thought about telling John about his dream. About the sweet voice in his head that calmed him, even if he couldn’t put a face to it. About the feeling of warmth and love, he felt wrapped up in a terrible blanket and small bed with a person who wanted him. “Just another dream is all,” He responded instead. “Where are the others?” 

 

“Since you were able to remember a song, Freddie decided it was time to celebrate,” John answered him, his eyes staying focused on his work. “There’s no alcohol in the house, so he and Brian took the car into town to buy some.” 

 

“How far is town?”

 

“Not far enough apparently. Then again, Freddie would go anywhere for a good drink.” 

 

Taping down the wraps, John snapped the lock back onto the medical kit. Roger wiggled his fingers, getting a feel of them with the bandages on. It wasn’t so bad and he was certain he had worse before. 

 

“Thanks,” Roger mentioned, watching John stand up to place the kit back onto the shelf. “When do you suppose they will be back?” John shrugged, going to lean against the counter, his hip popping in a way that caught Roger’s attention momentarily. “Well, then, shouldn’t we celebrate on our own?” 

 

“And how do you suppose we do that?” John questioned. 

 

Roger stood, his brow raised as a handsome smirk slipped across his lips. “We have another car, don’t we?” 

 

“The last time you were behind the wheel, you flipped it over six times,” John replied, causing them both to grimace. 

 

“For that comment alone, we’re definitely going.” 

 

Roger excepted the man to put up a fight, but he never did. Instead, John followed him off, grabbing the keys to the beautiful car they had parked out front. The brunet drove, much to Roger’s dismay but he guessed it was better. Roger didn’t remember these roads and knew he would most likely get them lost. 

 

If they were going to stay in the countryside, then Roger wanted to see everything he could. Brian and Fred would spend their time in town, picking up delicious bottles of wine and ale, while Roger and John did their own thing, taking their own time going along the beautiful side roads. 

 

And it truly was beautiful. Roger didn’t know if he ever took the time to appreciate how utterly gorgeous the simple life could be, but he was taking the chance to do so now. The sky was blue and the air was fresh. Nobody knew who they were as they drove by. People were out and about, living their lives, just as he and John were. 

 

Eventually, Roger persuaded John to park, and the man, though a tad reluctant, did just that. Getting out of the car, Roger took a spot on top of the hood, overlooking the gorgeous scene in front of them. There was nobody around for miles. Just one road behind them, and the green trees and grass and earth before them. 

 

“Thank you for this,” Roger mentioned once John hopped up beside him, joining him in the sightseeing. “I know I’ve said this before, but it really does mean a lot to me, everything you’re trying to do.”

 

“You don’t have to thank me, Roger.” 

 

“But I do. We’re mates, but to me, we feel like strangers. I haven’t been very fair to you, and if I’ve hurt you in the past few weeks, I’m sorry.”

 

“It’s all right, Roger,” John told him quietly, turning his head so he was looking outwards. 

 

Roger kept his eyes on him, patiently watching for any change in his expression, but it never came. “What was he like?” Roger asked suddenly. The question had been haunting him for hours and only now when they fell into a bit of silence did he decide to push it. “The man you loved. It was a guy, right?” 

 

“Yes. My boyfriend.” 

 

“Right.” Roger bobbed his head carefully. He had taken it in that Freddie was the type to swing both ways and maybe that was the situation for John as well. Roger’s mother taught him that at a young age, love was really all that mattered, so even with the terrible sigma going about, Roger knew he was in no right to judge. “What was he like?” 

 

John let out a long-winded sigh that he seemed to be holding in. He kept his head forward, eyes trained on the sky across the way. “He was eccentric,” John answered thoughtfully. “Tad bit of a perfectionist. Passionate. If he wanted something, he would do everything he could to get it.” 

 

“Is that how he got you?” Roger asked curiously. “Come on. Tell me about him. Did you play hard to get or was it love at first sight?” 

 

“Maybe a bit of both?” John offered, a sliver of a smile crossing along his face. “He was my best friend.” He admitted, going to slide off the car. “It’s getting late. I don’t want the others to worry.” 

 

“What was his name?” Roger asked him, his blue eyes trained on the brunet as he opened the driver's door. 

 

“Roger,” John sighed quietly. “Get in the car.” 

 

The blond chose not to argue, and instead got into the passenger side. They had been out longer than either expected and by the time they pulled back up to the farm, the sky was changing colors with the sunset. 

 

Freddie and Brian were still out, so they had dinner on their own, cooking together easily. Roger still didn’t know what went where, but he was handy enough in the kitchen. When the two did arrive, they had packages in hand, with Freddie bragging about the most delicious food they had in town and how they just had to join them the next time they ventured out. 

 

Roger helped Brian unload everything, check-in all the names of the bottles as they placed them into the liquor cabinet. They saved one bottle, something a bit stronger than Roger was used to, but it tasted delicious and relaxed him better than the weak shit they served at the party just weeks ago. 

 

Brian and Freddie were going on and on about their day while John and Roger just listened. Sipping on their glasses, feeling like a lush and enjoying the night. Roger felt the exact opposite as he had when the day began and when the group decided to turn in, the drummer was content to do the same. 

 

John stayed behind, going to finally take care of the dirty dishes from their meal. Roger stayed with him, watching as he worked. 

 

He still had a bit of drink left in his glass and he decided he would stay up until he finished it all. 

 

“Will you tell me?” Roger asked, hearing Freddie and Brian finally settle down upstairs.

 

“Tell you what, Roge?” John asked, turning his head over his shoulder to look at him as he scrubbed one of the plates. 

 

“How did he die?” Roger answered, stepping closer to him. “You said your boyfriend was gone. How did he die?” 

 

John was silent. Far too silent. Roger had only seen it a time or two in the past few weeks of them being around one another. The stoic way about himself that John would carry so easily. Sometimes he could come off so boyish and then other times so blank. Like he wasn’t even human. 

 

“There was an accident,” John admitted somberly. Roger didn’t expect him to answer at all or to even leave it at that, but the short-haired man carried on. “One that I caused. We had a fight and . . . next thing I knew, he was gone.” 

 

“What were you fighting about?” 

 

John put down the dishes, moving away from the sink. Roger watched as he wrapped his arms around himself, his hand rubbing carefully up and down his chest, almost rhythmically. Roger moved closer in an instant, touching his shoulder carefully. 

 

“Hey, hey. It’s all right, John. You’re all right.” 

 

“It’s not all right,” John muttered to him. Everything about him was miserable. The way he sounded, the way he looked. Roger felt a heavy weight on his chest for causing the man to fall so apart after they had such a good day. 

 

“It is. I know it’s hard, but things will get better.” Roger insisted, already knowing how ridiculous he sounded. When people were like this, so depressed and down on the dumps, they didn’t want to hear about how it could get better, they just wanted it to be better.

 

“It won’t. It really won’t, Roger.” John muttered, cold tears slipping down his cheeks. 

 

“It will!” Roger tried to insist. “I promise, it will.”

 

John continued to shake his head and Roger just continued to nod. It was time for a switch it seemed, this time Roger taking claim on being so optimistic while John looked as though he wanted to bury his head in the dirt. 

 

“I’m right here, John. We’re going to get through this. Just you and I.” He promised, giving his shoulder a squeeze. 

 

“Just you and I.” John mimicked, his voice breaking as he spoke the words. 

 

Roger gave an approving tilt of his head, not realizing he had quoted one of John’s very songs. 

 

A song that John had written for the love of his life, for the boyfriend he lost and the whole cause of this mess. Roger wanted to say something else, to change the subject and get John’s mind off of all this, but he never got the chance. 

 

In a flash, John was stepped forward, those so very careful calloused hands cradling Roger’s cheeks as the bass player pressed their lips together. Roger stood perfectly still, his one hand holding tightly onto John’s shoulder while the other gripped onto his glass. 

 

The kiss lingered for a moment, and when John pulled away, Roger finally got a good look at those eyes, which seemed to shimmer more green than gray than ever before. Roger opened his mouth to say something but was cut off by John breaking away from him as if he was a man on fire, burning him through their clothing. 

 

“I’m sorry,” John muttered. “I’m . . . I’m so sorry.” 

 

Turning on his heel, John hurried out of the kitchen, slipping down into his little basement room, and leaving Roger more confused than ever. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Definitely check out You and I by Queen -- romantic AF


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi, I'm a piece of garbage who doesn't follow her own schedule. Why bother? Art is a lie and nothing is real.

_“Hey, hey, hey. It’s all right.” The voice speaking was not his own. It was too light, too particular. It filled Roger’s sense, calming him even in the most straining of situations. Roger wasn’t okay, he wasn’t all right. His heart was beating out his chest and his head was pounding. He didn’t know what was wrong, he just felt awful._

 

_Arms wrapped around him from behind, pulling him back into a tight hold. Roger didn’t have attacks like this often, but when they came, they were harsh and raw and left Roger feeling absolutely destroyed. He didn’t really know what had happened, what caused him to go off the way he did._

 

_Maybe it was the stress of the tour or maybe it was the way the American people were looking at him. Roger always kept his cool, kept his composure. Touring was always the same. You play your songs and smile for the cameras. You do the interviews and go to the parties. Roger followed the beat easily enough._

 

_He always believed he was made for this. Made for the limelight, but sometimes even a star could find itself falling too quickly._

 

_“Breathe, Roge. Just breathe.” Roger leaned back against the body that was holding him closely. He closed his eyes, closed his mouth, and inhaled deeply through his nose. They breathed together slowly, chest rising and falling together. “I’m here. It’s all right.”_

 

_Roger wasn’t relaxing, wasn’t calming, but he felt better. There were lips by his ear, whispering to him. There was a hand holding his own, rubbing his chest comfortingly. “I love you,” The voice whispered again and again._

 

_“I know,” Roger spoke, squeezing the hand tightly. “I know.”_

 

Roger woke with a beating chest and a pounding head. There was yelling somewhere; the sound was muffled but just loud enough to pry Roger from his slumber. Freddie and Brian were going back and forth, probably shouting between their rooms. 

 

Roger groaned, pressing the ends of the pillows against his ears, trying to silence the sound. He wanted to crawl back to sleep, to find that dream once again. It wasn’t a good moment, a great scene, but he felt so cared for, so loved. Roger hadn’t felt like that in . . . ever. Or maybe he had and it was just lost on him. 

 

He tried and failed to fall back into that moment and found himself reluctantly waking up. His head and heart were heavy and all Roger wanted to do was escape the harsh reality that was his current life. Every time he woke up, he felt like he was losing another part of himself. He began to wonder how many more days would have to wake up until there was nothing left of himself. 

 

Pulling his clothes on, Roger made the small journey down the stairs. Freddie and Brian were still going at it, making comments on this or that. Roger didn’t have to listen for long to realize that they were arguing over a song. About the flow of it and how Freddie wanted to speed it up just a bit, how Brian said that just wouldn’t work without messing up the sequence of instruments. 

 

John was nowhere to be seen. Roger moved past the kitchen to head down to the basement, but the room was empty. Heading up the stairs, he looked out, finding the three set of cars still parked outside. John hadn’t left the farm at least. 

 

“Roger! Please, help me out here.” Brian called out, turning the blond’s attention onto something other than their bassist. 

 

The three of them went back and forth on the sounds. Roger had very little idea to which one they were even debating over, but he sided with them both. They had to play it both ways to decide how it should be recorded. Whether it be a bit speedier or keep with the usual tempo. 

 

Freddie agreed and hurried off out a fight. Brian led Roger down to where their instruments were and when Freddie joined them, he had John in tow. The man didn’t say a word, didn’t look over to where Roger was sitting behind his kit. He just picked up his guitar and waited for Freddie to give them the go. 

 

They played _Get Down, Make Love_ twice. Once with the way, Brian preferred it and then again a bit quicker as Freddie requested. Both stood on what they wanted, leaving it to Roger and John to make the final decision. 

 

“It’s supposed to be a sexy, funk track, Fred. Shouldn’t you keep it slower?” John asked, keeping his eyes on the singer. 

 

“Choosing Brian over me? Deacy, you hurt me today. Roger! What do you think?” 

 

Roger twisted his drumsticks between his fingers, watching as all eyes were on his. Well, two sets of eyes. Brian and Freddie were watching him, waiting for an answer while John stared off into the distance. 

 

“I don’t think my opinion really matters,” Roger answered. “I’ll play however you want me to play.” 

 

“Betrayed by my own family!” 

 

“Oh, don’t be so dramatic.” Brian groaned, placing his guitar carefully back onto its stand. “Besides, you wanted to write a sexually driven number. There you have it.” 

 

“Sex isn’t meant to be slow. If you and Chrissie are only moving to a slow, method beat, then I truly pity her, Bri.” 

 

“Oh, shut up!” 

 

“Are we done?” John asked, pulling his bass strap over his shoulders. 

 

“Yes, yes. We can retire for the day.” Freddie dismissed them easily. John didn’t wait another second. He placed his bass on the stand and hurried out of the room.

 

Roger moved around his kit, passing by the other two in order to follow him, but by the time he got back to the house, John was nowhere in sight. 

 

Roger knew when he was being ignored, being avoided. The whole thing was quite ridiculous, John running off like a scared teenager too embarrassed to speak to his crush. Shouldn’t Roger be the one upset? After all, he was the one who had been kissed out of the blue. 

 

Perhaps they were caught up in the moment or maybe John was just so broken over his lost love, he needed to be held, needed to be kissed. Truth was, Roger wasn’t upset, wasn’t angry. He was just confused. Ever since he came out of that bloody coma he has been so damn confused. Pieces of his mind were missing and he felt as though nobody was taking the chance to fill him in on it all. 

 

They told him about the musicians about his personality, the little things that had changed over time, but there were still parts of him that were so wide and vacant. Moments in time that were blank that nobody seemed to want to clue him in on. 

 

Night after night he would dream of someone who loved him, someone who held him close and held him tight. These couldn’t have just been dreams. He couldn’t just make it all up as some pathetic coping method. There had to be some normality to them, something real that Roger was subconsciously clingy onto. 

 

He felt like there was a war going on inside his mind, with his old self trying to hard to find a way in this unknown world and his current self trying to send little reminders to bring him back to a place where he felt like he belonged. 

 

Roger eventually found himself pacing in his bedroom, unable to let this tension go. He wanted to take it out on his drum kit, but he feared for his hands and worried that he might end up damaging the kit with his unwavering aggression. 

 

So he left, walking out of the house and around the green grass. The smell of farm animals and fresh air didn’t relax him much and he wondered how much he could drink before either his bandmates noticed the bottles were gone. 

 

Was that how he handled his problems now? Did he drink until he felt numb or did he crawl into the arms of an apparent lover to soothe his issues? 

 

He didn’t know. He just damn well didn’t fucking know and it was killing him. Slowly but surely, the unknown truth was suffocating him and Roger didn’t know how much more he’d be able to keep afloat until it finally dragged him under. 

 

Roger was making his way back into the house when he saw the door that led to John’s bedroom. Without another thought, he slipped through, heading down the steps until he was inside. John was sitting on his bed, reading a novel that looked eerily familiar, though that didn’t matter right now. 

 

The moment he looked up and saw that it was Roger who entered the basement, John sprang off the bed, tossing the book aside without even marking the page. 

 

“We have to talk,” Roger told him outright. 

 

“I’m sorry,” John told him automatically, putting his hands up as if to keep the blond at bay. “I was caught in the moment. It will never happen again.” 

 

“You kissed me, John,” Roger said pointedly. “It wasn’t just a peck on the lips. I may not remember much but I know you don’t just go around kissing your bandmates, especially not like that.” 

 

It wasn’t a forceful kiss or even one filled with need. Roger didn’t have the words to describe it, but he knew there was more to it than just John using him as a physical outlet. 

 

“I have been going absolutely mad in the past few weeks. Seven years gone in a snap and now I am dreaming of someone. I know them, John. Every day I wake up with a heavy heart, feeling like I lost someone dear to me. And none of you will tell me who the fuck they are!” 

 

“No one, Roger.” 

 

“Don’t lie to me, Deacy! Those dreams can’t just be dreams! My heart wouldn’t be racing and my mind wouldn’t be running if they were!” He couldn’t see them, but he heard them, felt them. Everything about it was so intense, surely it couldn’t just be a fantasy made up by his own broken mind. 

 

“I loved someone, John. And I know they loved me. I can feel it in my bones. Every part of my body is screaming for it. Who were they, John?” 

 

The brunet shook his head, his eyes closing as tears streamed down his red cheeks. Roger felt the overwhelming need to comfort the man, but he refused to give in to those urges. He was the one suffering here. He was the one feeling all the pain. And John was the one refusing to talk. 

 

“Don’t keep me in the dark, John. I won’t survive it.” Roger whispered, his words practically pleading. 

 

John took short, shallow breathes, his hand rubbing up and down his chest in an attempt to stop the attack that was coming on. It was so similar to his dream and without realizing it, Roger reached out, taking John’s hand in his own. It was almost mechanical for him. Like he was programmed to do it. 

 

John laced their fingers together in a swift, fluid motion; his eyes finally opening so he could look to Roger’s. They were silent, but that spoke loudly enough for Roger to finally see the truth that had been dangling in front of it. 

 

“It’s you.” He spoke, his voice low and to the point. He was one he dreamed about. The person haunting his mind. The one he can’t remember. “Isn’t it, John?” 

 

No words left the bass players mouth, but his head bobbed up and down, giving him the answer. 

 

“How long?”

 

John tilted his head back, sniffling through his tears as he blinked them away. “Five years.” 

 

Five years. Just as Brian had mentioned. Five years of being with the man — seven years of knowing him — gone and nobody cared to tell him about it. 

 

“Why?” Roger demanded, pulling his hand away from the man. John reached for him but quickly retreated, burying his arms into his chest as if to hide away. “Why didn’t you tell me?” 

 

“It’s . . . it’s complicated, Roger.” John replied, flinching as the blond spoke again.

 

“ _Fuck complicated_!” He snapped harshly. “This is my life! A piece of me that you have kept to yourself. How could you do that to me?” 

 

Five bloody years! How could Roger by with someone for five bloody years and have them lie to him, hideaway something so important, something so necessary? “Freddie and Brian. They knew too, don’t they and yet they didn’t say a fucking word.”

 

“I told them not to,” John insisted. “I . . . I need you to understand, I never wanted to keep this from you but . . . Roger, you have to understand, you didn’t remember me. You woke up and you had no idea who I was. Every time I tried to see you, to tell you, you sent me away or looked at me like I was some groupie pushing into your personal space.” 

 

Roger wanted to get angry. To yell at John and snap at him all over again, but he had a point. He had no recollection of John, no realization of their relationship. To Roger, John was just another mate, the bass player for Queen. He didn’t realize who he was nor did he even have any indication that they were more than what they seemed. 

 

“Were you ever going to tell me?” Roger asked him, his blue eyes trained so very carefully on the brunet. 

 

John shifted from where he stood. To his credit, he didn’t look away, didn’t try to hide. “I thought you’d remember over time.” He admitted. “Thought if we spent enough time together, something would spark.” 

 

He wasn’t wrong. Roger may not have outright remembered, but the dreams were enough to push him to where they were now. Roger sighed heavily, moving away from where he had been standing in the middle of the tiny room and took a seat at the edge of the bed. He pinched the bridge of his nose, trying to piece together everything that was happening. 

 

“You said your boyfriend died.” Roger reminded him, cocking his head back to meet John’s gaze. 

 

“I said he was gone.” 

 

“Same difference,” Roger replied miserably. “You said there was an accident and you caused it. What happened to me, John? What did you do?” 

 

John clenched his jaw, swallowed hard. Roger counted the beats, waiting for the truth to come. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Enjoy that cliffhanger. You'll get the follow-up at some point. 
> 
> Until then, tell me how much you wanna slap John right now. What could he have done to have caused such a horrible thing to happen?


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It came to my attention that both Sunday and Monday are going to be very hectic for me due to my work schedule and personal plans, so enjoy this (once again) early update.
> 
> Perhaps someday, dear reader, I will actually stick to the schedule I have set for myself.

_It was an invitation that set him off, one that Roger had received year after year, like clockwork. Just like himself, his sister Claire had always been a fan of Christmas and took it upon herself to throw one hell of a bash._

 

_She invited her brother yearly, though whether or not he showed was up to him. Claire was popular in her own group of friends and never needed her rockstar brother to show his face at any of her parties in order to have a good time. Most of them were intimate affairs anyway; people they had grown up with or friends from her workplace._

 

_Roger went annually, as to how could he turn down a good party? Especially one was thrown by his sister during their favorite time of year. Nobody there really paid him much mind anyhow. Sure, as his career went off and the band got more well known, there were people here and there asking him if he really was who he said he was. Chatting with Claire about how wonderful it was to have such a talented brother, but never anything too over the top. Just a compliment or two or happy cheers for his success before they moved on._

 

_Over time, Roger had tried to persuade the others to join him. Freddie and Brian had both given in a time or two until Brian met Chrissie and began spending the holidays with her, and Freddie would either return home or spend time with Mary or whoever he was attached to at that moment._

 

_John would decline year after year, excusing himself to return back to his family home. Roger was never too disappointed, as they always had the actual holiday together. Roger respected his reasoning and never pushed too hard._

 

_Until this year, however._

 

_Roger read the invitation, his eyes scanning over the place where he was free to bring a guest if he liked. Every year Roger would show up to his sisters with nothing more than a bottle of something delicious and expensive, though no one pretty on his arm, even though for the past few years he had someone pretty at home waiting for him._

 

_Roger had put his foot down this time, however. He wasn’t going to turn up to Claire’s alone, oh no. He cornered the man, insisting that they would go together. John was against it completely and while at first, it seemed like good fun, the arguing, Roger finally demanded to know why John wouldn’t want to go to a family gathering with the man._

 

_“I know how you get at parties,” John told him simply. “You’re going to drink, and get too comfortable, and get too handsy and I don’t want to spend the night pushing you away.”_

 

_“I don’t get handsy at every party we go to,” Roger told him with a roll of his eyes._

 

_They had gotten used to keeping their distance at most events. No one would be suspicious if they stood around one another, talking all night. After all, they were mates, in and out of the band, so it wouldn’t be too surprising if they enjoyed one the other company, but they knew the roles they had to play._

 

_So John would be on the dance floor or speaking to the executives and Roger would be speaking to anyone else who was famous or flirting with a pretty girl that he never actually brought home. Gone were the days when the two were still trying to find their footing in the world. They knew at the end of the night, they’d be who they’d go off with, whether it be to their own comfortable home or whatever hotel they were shacking up in for the time being._

 

_“Exactly! This is far too intimate, Roger and I know you too well. You’re going to want to stay together, you’re going to want to hold me.”_

 

_“And wanting to hold you is a bad thing now?”_

 

_“It is when we’re at a public outing.”_

 

_“This isn’t a public event with cameras, John. It’s my sisters Christmas party.” Roger tried to fight on his own behalf, tried to insist that John was making this out to be bigger than it actually was, but the brunet wouldn’t budge._

 

_“Exactly. A party filled with her friends, and her coworkers. Half of our friends don’t even know about us, Roger.”_

 

_“Well, maybe they should!” Roger snapped back, his hands falling to his waist. He stepped closer, going to sit on the coffee table, across from where John was lounging on the sofa, his legs crossed so elegantly. “Aren’t you tired, sweetheart?”_

 

_“Tired of what?”_

 

_“Just tired! Of all the hiding and pretending to be something we’re not? Of being forced to put on a smile and say pretty things to pretty women when in fact all we want to do is crawl into our bed and watch shitty television for the night?”_

 

_“What are you saying, Roger?” John asked, his eyes narrowing ever so carefully._

 

_Roger reached over, placing his hand on John’s knee. “I’m saying I think that after being together for nearly five years, we should finally stop with the antics and just be together.”_

 

_John lifted his own hand, placing it on top of Roger’s. He held it for a moment before promptly pulling away so he could stand. “We are together, Roger.”_

 

_“Not the way we should be. Not the way we deserve to be.” Roger argued, turning his head so his gaze could follow the man. “John, come on. How many more years must we be together until you finally see I’m not going anywhere?”_

 

_Roger watched as John rolled his eyes, going to pick up the pack of cigarettes that was sitting on top of the mantle. He pulled one out, using a careful hand to reach into the burning flame of the fireplace to light it. Roger stood, going to crowd around him as John took a long drag._

 

_“Five years. Next year, it will be six. And then seven. Eight, then nine. After that, it will be ten.”_

 

_“You can count, Roger. I’m so very proud of you.”_

 

_“How many years do you want to keep hiding, John? How many years do you want to play pretend?”_

 

_“It wouldn’t work, Roger,” John answered, causing the blond to scoff. “The world got into a frenzy when it came known that Freddie liked men. How do you they’d react if we did too?”_

 

_“Why do you care so much about what other people think?”_

 

_“We’re a band, Roger! What people think about us is what made us so popular. What people think about us is what helped me pay for this house. What they think is the most important thing in the world.”_

 

_“And you think they’ll hate the idea of us being together?”_

 

_“I think in a world that is more god-fearing than anything, the idea of a band that is seventy-five percent homosexual wouldn’t sit well with them.”_

 

_“Technically, half the band is bisexual, one quarter is straight and one quarter is homosexual,” Roger replied back, not caring that he sounded like a complete and utter smart ass._

 

_John kept his expression blank and unbothered, rolling his eyes at Roger’s attempt to argue his way out of this. “Don’t complicate things, Roger.”_

 

_“We make good music, John. Whether or not we enjoy a good dicking shouldn’t matter.”_

 

_“It shouldn’t, but it does,” John told him carefully. “Things are good the way they are. Things are working.”_

 

_“Just because they’re working that doesn’t mean we shouldn’t advance it all. I want to be with you the same way Freddie had been with Mary or Brian is with Chrissie.”_

 

_“You know we can’t be. It just . . . that’s not how we are, Roge.”_

 

_“But it’s how we could be!” Roger fought on. “I don’t want to hide anymore. I want to be out. I want to be like everybody else. How could you possibly be satisfied hiding away like this?”_

 

_They had been involved for nearly five years. From the very beginning, they both knew this was dangerous came to play, but even back when it was just meant to be fun, meant to be a way of release, they knew it was a bit too much for them to ever fully grasp. Never once had either of them regretted the things they did, but the trouble that came from always having to stay in the shadows was proving to be far out of their reach._

 

_“It’s easier this way, Roger,” John answered, which had to be the worst thing he could possibly have said._

 

_“Oh_ **_fuck easy_ ** _!” Roger didn’t raise his voice often, especially towards John, but he was annoyed and angry and this conversation wasn’t going the way he wanted it to._

 

_John shook his head, taking a step away from Roger as he tossed the butt of his cigarette into the fireplace. “I can’t, Roge.” He told him simply. “I won’t. I’m sorry.”_

 

_“Right.” His answer was short and sweet, leaving it alone._

 

_He didn’t know why he bothered pushing for more. John had always been one to just do what was best for himself. He couldn’t handle the limelight, so he stayed with Freddie who could coax the best out of him. He didn’t like all those guitar solos, but he let Brian have his way because it was better than fighting with him. He didn’t like seeing Roger upset, but it was better than coming out of the closet. Always, always so easy._

 

_Turning, John prepared to leave the room. “Just forget it then. Pretend I ever said anything.”_

 

_The brunet sighed, moving forward. “Roger,”_

 

_“No, John!” The blond paused, raising a hand to gesture to John. He didn’t want to be touched, didn’t want to be comforted. He was pissed off and he just wanted to be out of this house and this situation. “Just forget it, all right? Shuffle back off into the shadows and into the silence. Just . . . forget it.”_

 

_Without another word, Roger left the sitting room, scooped up his keys from the bowl and left the mansion._

 

Roger sat on the edge of the bed, watching as John finished. The man stood there, with his arms wrapped around himself protectively. He wasn’t crying, but those green eyes that Roger had gotten so used to looking into were glistening with tears. 

 

“I didn’t know what you meant by that. I don’t know if you meant to forget the conversation or the relationship. I didn’t know what to expect when you returned home . . . but you never returned. The next time I saw you, you were hooked to machines, tubes all around, clinging to life.” 

 

John moved forward then, going to sit beside Roger on the bed, though he kept a small distance between them. 

 

John explained that he had been the one they called, along with Miami who rushed over the moment they heard. John stayed with him day in and day out, for as long as the hospital allowed non-family visitors. He would play his favorite music and read his favorite books. He would do everything he could in hopes of coaxing the man back to consciousness.

 

“I promised myself, if you woke up, I’d do whatever you want. Come out. Break up. Anything. And when you did finally woke-”

 

“I had no idea who you were,” Roger answered him. 

 

The music suddenly filled the airways, the faint sound of guitar strumming coming from upstairs. It was a gentle acoustic sound, projected louder from an amplifier. The tune was familiar to Roger and he turned his head to look to John, hoping he would supply the title.

 

“Brian’s practicing again.” He muttered quietly, momentarily distracting himself from the conversation.

 

He thought back to the Smile days, how passionate his friend had been about this particular instrument. Brian could sing, but he never really cared for it the way Freddie did. He would always find a comfortable solus with the instrument, just as Roger had with his own drum kit. 

 

Back when they were both so unsure of what they would do with their lives, it was their music that brought on a sense of comfort. A sense of reassurance that everything was going to be okay. 

 

It was heartbreakingly beautiful, whatever the song it was, but then again most of their love songs were. He didn’t even know if it was a love song, but by the sweetly haunting melody of it, Roger had to take a guess. 

 

“I caused you so much distress, Roger.” John states after a moment of listening.” Always pushing us deeper and deeper into the shadows. I thought . . . when I realized your memories of us weren’t going to come back, I thought it would be better this way. You could start over. Live the life you deserve to live.” 

 

“So you would just erase everything we had. Pretend like it never existed.” 

 

It wasn’t a satisfying answer and John seemed to know that. He shrugged, looking guilty and somehow, unaffected by the turn of events. “I’m not proud of it. But I would do anything to make you happy. And you weren’t happy with me, Roger. Not really.”

 

It would have been easy to agree with him, as he didn’t have any of the memories to have his own dispute. Sure, he had the dreams that were all fluffy and comfortable, but those were from earlier on. Who really knew what had happened in the later years of their relationship, when the constant hiding had finally taken a toll on the two of them. 

 

Roger could have easily bobbed his head and agreed. Could have let it go and moved on with his life, forgetting all about the things the two of them had shared. And yet a part of him refused, realizing that once again, doing the easy thing wasn’t always the best thing. 

 

“I don’t believe that, John.” He confessed quietly.

 

“You don’t have to do that, Roger.” John insisted quietly. “You can have your way out. You can live the life you want to live in.” 

 

“The life I wanted to live had you in it, John.” Roger reminded him. “I don’t want to just walk away from that, especially when I fought so hard for it.” 

 

Roger knew this was a lot to handle. Being in a relationship and forgetting all about it was one thing, but being in a same-sex relationship when the last time you remember being intimate was exclusive with girls is a whole nothing situation. 

 

And yet Roger found himself unable to let go of the past, finding that the memories that haunted him were just too good to release. 

 

“I wish you had told me, but I understand why you didn’t. Our fight wasn’t something I should have walked away from and I am sorry for it.” 

 

“You don’t have to apologize, Roger.” 

 

Reaching forward, Roger took John’s hand in his own, their fingers lacing easily. “I don’t remember loving you, but I know I did.” He told him quietly. “Somewhere inside of me, I feel it. And I think, with time, I could love you again.”

 

John let out a whisper of a sob, looking away from the man. Using his free hand, Roger touched his face, forcing him to look his way once again. 

 

“Will you give me the time to try, John? Please?” 

 

John could have very easily had pushed him away. Roger didn’t know what he would have done if he did. If he would have let it go and moved on. Dropped the broken pieces of his life to focus on moving forward or if he would have attempted to give it another go. 

 

Deep in his mind, Roger found the lyrics to the song that Brian had been playing up the stairs. It wasn’t one he sang on his own, but he knew the lines well enough. 

 

_You don’t know what it means to me…._

 

It seemed like for the first time in a long time, John wasn’t going to take the easy way out. He bobbed his head, licking his lips as he cleared his throat. All he said was one answer. One word.

 

“Okay.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, the truth had been revealed. Was it everything you thought it would be? Were you expecting something completely different? 
> 
> Remember, lovely readers, there is always more than meets the eye.....
> 
> Tell me down below what you thought.


	10. Chapter 10

The time for them to settle in had come and gone and while Roger’s memory wasn’t fully restored, the band settled that there was no reason for them not to carry on with their plans to record. As the rest of the crew arrived at the farmhouse, Roger did his best to adjust. 

 

Brian had helped here and there, explaining who everyone was and Roger’s personal connection to them. Any little jokes he had and things of the sort. Many of the people who had arrived pulled him in for tight embraces, praising his return and that he was alive after the accident. 

 

Roger had cornered John sometime beforehand, questioning who it was that did and did not know about their relationship. John had mentioned over time they grew more comfortable with a handful of loyal people that came around with him, but for the most part, they were secretive to anyone outside of the band itself.

 

Roger tried to wrap his mind around why he and John would want to hide their relationship, knowing that the main excuse had been due to public outcry and gay panic. John didn’t want to talk about it much, insisting that they instead put all their focus on the music. 

 

Roger agreed, but not before prying a bit of information out of the man to at least give Roger a bit of insight into their relationship. He already knew that he made the first move to kiss him, while John was the one to turn their relationship sexual. It was everything else that was a bit fuzzy to the man. 

 

They never made it obvious from what he could gather, but that was the whole point. They were supposed to keep it hidden, play it down and make it seem like they were just too good for the groupies and fans that came up to them, ready to offer them the night of their lives. 

 

It had been Roger’s idea to buy the house, wanting to have something concrete. Something they could hold onto; a physical piece of their relationship that they knew was real. John had been hesitant at first, fearing the paparazzi would find them, but he fell in love with the mansion. Neither had ever lived somewhere so extravagant. Maybe it was a tad bit too big but who cared? They could afford it. For the first time ever, they could actually afford to spoil themselves! 

 

John told him a few more things; little insights into their lives. Roger was the most outwardly romantic of the two. He’d be the one to surprise John with little gifts here and there. Even back when they were working endlessly and saving up every penny, he would show up with flowers or comics, or even little trinkets. 

 

John was more realistic, choosing to instead focus on when they were alone to show Roger how much he meant to him. He may not be able to sing but there was no doubting that he was a gifted lyricist. He wrote sickeningly sweet love songs for the man and planned on writing man more.

 

“If I could go back and do it over again, I would in a heartbeat. I would have given you the world, Roger.” John confessed to him one of their last nights at the farm.

 

Roger didn’t know how he was supposed to respond but he was left aching. He went to sleep in a bed that was too small, his head resting on a pillow that just didn’t smell right. Too much like his own cologne and shampoo. He missed the familiar smell of mattress in the mansion, even if he still didn’t know how to describe it. 

 

The band had finally figured out the songs they were going to use and now all that was left was to record them. They started off the week doing the songs that Roger knew the best, leaving the man to practice the rest after hours. It was taking a toll on him, everyone could see it. 

 

He was pushing himself harder and harder, wanting to show off and prove that he still had it in him. The last thing he needed was for the fans to sense a bit of a change on the upcoming record and abandon them right when things were starting to turn around. 

 

They had gone back and forth between the country home and the recording studio in London. Freddie had introduced him to a whim of a man whose name Roger couldn’t care to take, but as apparently apart of a band called the Pistols of Sex or something along those lines. Freddie didn’t care for the man very much and Roger took it upon himself to dislike the man right off the bat. Anybody who found pleasure in picking fun at Freddie was a bit of shit regardless. 

 

Freddie, in turn, took it upon himself to watch over Roger, hovering carefully through every recording session and making sure that he didn’t miss a single beat or skip over the tempo. If something was off, he would straighten it out and if Roger wanted to change something, they would have a full discussion on it.

 

They worked together on it, just like they used to all those years ago. Roger had always known that Freddie was his musical soulmate and while it seemed over time they each found romantic interest that took over their time and minds and bodies, no one would ever come between Roger and Freddie and their love of music. 

 

The first two songs went well enough and by the time they finished the third, it seemed like everything was going to be all right. The days were long and Brian found himself and John going at it a time or two, but it was nothing anybody seemed to worry about. 

 

Freddie insisted that the members of the band that played the strings always had the hardest heads. It was a joke and he knew it, and yet Roger found himself wanting to side with John on certain things. The way a song was meant to flow or adding a lyric here or there. 

 

Ever since he had found out that he and John were an item, he found himself acting and thinking differently. He would look over to John, who was in the middle of fiddling with his bass or with the amplifiers. He would just watch him, taking in his beauty and his grace. 

 

He had never found a man attractive before and while he was sure their coming together was odd to the both of them, Roger found that it didn’t seem too out of the ordinary that he’d go for a guy like him. Granted, pretty boys didn’t normally go for pretty boys, but John was pretty in a sense that he didn’t even realize it himself how utterly lovely he was. 

 

Roger knew he was hot, knew he had a good smile and great chest. He looked good in just about everything and had no issue showing it off. John on the other hand slouched and hid behind loud shirts and bell-bottom jeans. 

 

He had seen pictures of the two of them through the years where John was dolled up for a show in silk and sequence. He wore platform shoes and his hair was past his shoulders. He could put on a brave face and perform without issue but it was easy to see he was playing a part. Dressing pretty while practically being dead inside.

 

And yet he was still gorgeous. Still worthy of attention and affection. Roger found that the man was just as lovely now in his plaid shirts and denim slacks. His hair was short but that allowed a better viewing of those highlighted cheekbones and sparkling smile. 

 

They hadn’t done anything since the days they started to record. They would sit together during meals, but there would always be a space between them. They’d talk, but mostly about the music. One or twice they had slipped out for a cigarette break, even going so far as to share one in hopes of having a spare moment of peace, but nothing went beyond that. 

 

Roger didn’t know if he was worried or thankful. He could see John was still holding himself back, but he was getting the time that he had asked for. It wasn’t like they could just jump right back into a relationship, especially since Roger would basically be learning how to be intimate with a man all over again. 

 

He was sure it wasn’t too far off from being with a woman, excluding some specific body parts that had been replaced. They stayed close but never pushed for anymore and that was fine for right now. They had an album to record after all. That should be the most important thing on their mind. Everything else could wait.

 

Once it was all said and done, Miami called them all for a meeting at the studio. Freddie arrived first, much to Brian’s surprise, as it had apparently become a thing for him to show up late with his little minion by his side. Roger had been out with Brian for most of the day, spending a bit of the cash they had on new things. 

 

Brian wanted to buy something nice to Chrissie and thought having Roger come along would be fun for them. A bit of bonding time, just the two of them. It was nice, he had to admit. Being back in the city and all. Brian ended up finding a nice sundress he thought his wife would approve of though their shopping was cut short by their manager wanting to see them. 

 

The three of them sat together, anxiously waiting for the fourth member to arrive. “Is he normally late?” Roger asked Brian curiously. 

 

“Not particularly.” He admitted. “Though normally you two would arrive together.” 

 

“He didn’t answer the call,” Miami admitted. 

 

“Can we just get on with it? Freddie has an event to get ready for.” Paul added from where he stood behind the lead singer. 

 

Both Brian and John had warned the blond that Paul would eventually get on his nerves. He seemed like an okay guy in the beginning, but Roger quickly realized where his loyalty laid. 

 

“John is apart of this band. If this is a band meeting then the whole band should be here.” Roger argued, his eyes not wavering from Paul’s. 

 

He wasn’t intimidated by the other man in the least. He could act high and mighty because he had Freddie wrapped around his finger, but Roger didn’t shutter.

 

Paul leaned down, whispering something in Freddie’s ear. The singer listened for a moment before lifting a hand, waving it about with the cigarette still stuck between his fingers. “Miami, just show us what you called us in for. Whatever it is, John can see it when he arrives.”

 

Miami offered Roger a small glance; a silent apology before turning towards the item he had covered up. 

 

“All right, gentleman. It took a bit of time and it was a tad more expensive than we thought it would be, but I think we got our money's worth.” Pulling back the cloth, Miami showed off the painting.

 

It featured a mournfully tragic looking robot holding the unconscious bodies of the band. All of which were wearing clothes they had worn on previous toured and each looking delicate and lovely as they fell from the hands of the monster. 

 

The picture itself looking eerily familiar and Roger caught himself staring at it for longer than necessary. “Thats from a book,” Roger mentioned loud. “Or a magazine of sorts.” 

 

“ _Astounding Science Fiction,_ ” Miami answered him. “You remember.”

 

Roger turned, looking across the way to Brian. “We bought it together, yeah? In that tiny bookshop in the village. I used the last of my petty cash to buy that piece.” 

 

“The artist created it just for us, Roge,” Freddie told him with a grin. “As per your request.” 

 

“Did he really? Talk about bragging rights.” Roger mentioned, looking smugger than he meant to. 

 

“Yes, yes. He agreed to alter it for us, even though you previously wrote a song about fucking an auto-body.” 

 

“Bloody hell, Freddie, you know damn well that its a metaphor!” Roger snapped, feeling more defensive about the song that he had previously. All thoughts on the song had come into play and Roger felt the need to defend a piece that meant so very much to him. 

 

Freddie smirked, leaning across the table then. “And here I thought you hated that song? I thought you found it utterly ridiculous.” 

 

“It was a hit and you’re just annoyed because it made just as much as your own single had.” Roger dismissed, standing to his feet to grab an empty glass and pour whatever it was Miami had a bottle of in his office. 

 

Freddie looked to the others, smirking as he wrapped his lips around his cigarette. “Things seem to be looking up, don’t you think?”

 

Miami turned when the phone in his office began ringing. He answered it swiftly, listening carefully to the other end. “Roger. It’s for you.” 

 

The drummer paused, lowering his drink from his mouth and handing it off to Brian as he strode across the room to answer the phone. “Roger Taylor,” He spoke.

 

The woman on the other end spoke clear and carefully, explaining the situation to him though in very little detail. “Right. Of course.” Roger responded shakily. “On my way.” Handing the phone off to Miami, he turned towards the guitarist. “Brian, we have to go.” 

 

“Is everything all right?” 

 

“I don’t know,” Roger admitted, already halfway out the door. “John’s in hospital.” 

 

Roger hadn’t been to the hospital since John released him from his stay after they realized his memory loss. He always swore he’d never return to it, but here he was, running through the halls like a madman. The woman on the phone explained that Roger was John’s emergency contact and that Mr. Deacon had been admitted though was in stable condition. She wouldn’t tell him what happened, however, which made Roger all the more anxious as he was lead to his room. 

 

“It’s really not that bad,” John argued when Brian and Roger arrived. 

 

He had been showering in the guest bathroom, which was far smaller than the one in the master bedroom. John wasn’t some lanky giant like Brian, but his limbs were still long and he found the tight quarters to be a bit challenging. Throw in a slippery floor and a thin glass door and you have a recipe for disaster. He was cut up quite badly but was able to make his way to the phone to call an ambulance before he bled out on the floor. 

 

“Nineteen stitches, John. I think we can chalk this up as kind of bad.” Brian claimed carefully. 

 

“I’m fine. The doctor said I’ll only need the sling for a few weeks.” John gestured to his arm, which was wrapped around him ever so carefully. 

 

“At least recording is finished,” Brian answered, pinching the bridge of his nose. 

 

Roger had been eerily silent, his eyes never leaving John as the bass player and guitarist went back and forth. He hadn’t realized how far his heart had jumped until he found it caught up in his throat. 

 

“You could have died.” He mentioned, finally finding his voice. 

 

Brian coughed, stating he was going to bring the car around and left the room to give them a bit of privacy. 

 

John shifted in his seat, looking back and forth between Roger and the floor. “I’m sorry they called you. I would have taken a cab home, but they were worried the pain killers would have made me tired.” 

 

“I’m your boyfriend, of course, they should have called me,” Roger answered in a snap. 

 

If was the first time he had said it aloud since finding out and to his astonishment, it just sounded so natural and real. They still had so much to go over and take care of, but the fact still remained. 

 

The thought of seeing John lying there on the bathroom floor, surrounded by broken glass and his own blood made the color drain from Roger’s cheeks. He acted in a way that he couldn’t describe and moved closer to stand near the short-haired man.

 

“I have been dreaming about someone for days on end. Thoughts or memories, absolutely haunting my mind. Finally, I find out who exactly it is — you John — and then you’re nearly taken from me and you act like it is no big deal.” 

 

“It’s a fracture, Roger and a couple to stitches.” 

 

“It would be a skinned knee and it would all be the same!” Roger screamed.

 

John sat with his grey eyes wide, taken back by the sudden outburst. Roger groaned, pinching the bridge of his nose with his two fingers. He stepped forward, placing his hand on John’s shoulder. He paused, letting it linger there before coming to close the space between them and wrap his arms around John in a tight embrace. 

 

“I’m sorry.” He muttered quietly, tilting his head to press his face into John’s hair. 

 

They stayed like that for a moment, just holding onto one another. Roger took a slow breath in, trying to calm himself. The familiar scent that still lingered in his bedroom filled his nostrils. So sweet and warm and welcoming. 

 

Roger pressed a kiss to John’s head, his hand remaining settled on his shoulder. 

 

“It’s all right.”The brunet muttered quietly. “I’m sorry I worried you.” 

 

Worry. Worry and fear and care were all the things he felt for this man that he still struggled to remember. Roger was quickly beginning to realize that even if his memories were gone, those feelings still remained and had no intention of going away. 

 

“Come on,” Roger whispered as he pulled away. “Let’s go home.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We're cutting it close now. Only 5 chapters left. Seriously debating about doing this once a week again. Gotta stretch it out, you know? 
> 
> Also, the timeline is completely fucked. Their album isn't released until November and John didn't hurt himself until December but it's barely April here. Who cares. It's 1977 somewhere.
> 
> Please tell me what you think below. I eagerly wait for all your replies. 
> 
> PS, Roger did, in fact, choose the album cover for News Of The World.


	11. Chapter 11

The days to finish the album came and went and before they knew it, it was out of their hands. They played every note they could play and sing every lyric that could be sung. All that was left was for them to was let the people behind the scenes tweak what needed to be tweaked and push all the buttons that needed to be pushed. 

 

Brian and Freddie were happy to return home after being away for so long. Touring was one thing, but being left on a farm for nearly three weeks just seemed so cruel. Roger felt terrible, as the whole reason for the extra week was so they could help rattle his brain around.

 

It worked a little bit, with pieces coming back to him in little bits, but in the end, there was still so much missing. However, they couldn’t very well stay there forever. Brian had a wife to return to and Freddie had his cats. 

 

Roger and John returned to their far too large home, the place practically echoing as they settled their luggage down. The first few days back was strange, though Roger blamed that on himself. The last time they had been at the mansion, Roger thought they were glorified roommates. Now it seems they did, in fact, share a room, though that was another added on the thing that John chose to keep from him.

 

He tried to explain himself, insist that he didn’t want to just thrust the truth onto the man, especially since he needed so much time to take it all in. John cleared out all in his things from the master bedroom, moving down the hall to one of the spare rooms to give Roger the chance to adjust it the house.

 

Now as Roger sat in that bed that was far too large for just one person and placed his newly washed clothing into a half-empty closet, it was making a bit more sense to him now. 

 

He had crept into John’s apparent bedroom, hoping to find him for a bit of a chat, but it came up empty. Unable to stop the curiosity, he took a look around. The room was small but comfortable. John had obviously made do with what he had, though he had to admit, it didn’t look like a bedroom, but rather a hotel room that one has been staying in for an extended amount of time. 

 

The bed was neatly made and his clothes were folded ever so carefully. John liked to have order and it showed and Roger couldn’t help but smile at the idea of him taking his time to make sure each and every jumper was carefully pressed when it returned from the cleaners. 

 

He returned to look into the bathroom; the image of John lay bleeding on the ground haunting his mind. In the days after his accident, Roger pestered John endlessly, refusing to allow him to do anything on his own. John, who apparently wasn’t used to others doing things for him, fought Roger every step of the way, but the blond refused. 

 

Memory loss or not, Roger was his boyfriend and there was no way he was going to allow John to raise a single figure if Roger was there to do it for him. And any time John tried to stop him, Roger would remind him of all the time they had lost and how Roger was merely trying to make up for it all. 

 

Roger knew he was playing dirty and didn’t give a single damn about it.

 

Roger pulled open one of the draws curiously, finding a small collection of framed photographs. All of which contained pictures of himself and John at various times of their lives. Some when they were younger and their hair was longer. Others that seemed more recent, though they looked just as handsome. 

 

Roger wondered why they had been hidden away, but the point was obvious. If he had seen them, it would have blown his cover. The truth would have been out there and Roger would of have a lot more on his plate to deal with. It was painful, he knew, but deep down John was trying to help Roger. 

 

But now, the truth was out there and Roger found no point of having these pictures locked away like they were. Gathering them up, he went around the mansion, trying his best to place them where he thought they might have previously belonged. 

 

One was settled onto of the mantle, just above the fireplace, while others were hung up on the wall. Another he had stuck on the nightstand by his bed and the final piece was hung in the music room, on the far wall facing his drum kit. 

 

Returning up the stairs, he found John gazing at one of the pictures in the sitting room, baffled by how it had gotten there. “I don’t know if that was where it belonged, but I thought it looked good.” 

 

“You went through my room?” John asked though he didn’t sound angry. 

 

“Technically, it’s not really your room. Just the place you’ve been sleeping while I settled with everything inside my head.” 

 

“You’re still adjusting to the fact that you’re in a relationship with a man, do you really think sharing a bed would help you cope?” 

 

“Quite like ripping off the bandaid, isn’t it? Hard and fast, better to thrust yourself into it?” Roger asked, hissing at out ridiculous he sounded. He ran his fingers along his collarbone, rubbing the nerves of skin under his fingers. “I was hoping to have a bit of a chat about all this, actually.” 

 

John gave a warnful glance, bobbing his head in agreement. “Oh. All right.” 

 

“I meant what I said. I don’t want to just walk away from this, but it’s not like we can just carry on where we left off.”

 

“Right. Of course.” 

 

“I was thinking, perhaps we could go on a bit of a date and get to know one another? I know you know me, but aside from the basics, I don’t know you that well. I did, I’m sure of it, but I’d like to get to know you again.” 

 

Roger was rambling now and he was sure he sounded like an absolute mad man, but he didn’t care very much. John was shifting on his feet, his hips popping out in a way that caught Roger’s attention without the man even realizing it. 

 

“A date?” He questioned. “We’ve never gone on a date.”

 

“How is that possible?” Roger asked, his eyes narrowing. “Five years together and I’ve never taken you out?” 

 

“We didn’t exactly start out as romantic, Roger,” John explained carefully. “At first, it was just fun. We were messing around, trying to find our place in the world. I was locked away in the closet and you were lonely. Half the time we’d go out in hopes of finding girls only to sneak away and wank one another off in the alleyways behind the pubs.” 

 

“Sounds hot, to be honest,” Roger admitted with a tiny shrug. 

 

“It was. In the beginning, it was just sex. We took pleasure out of being together physically, but you were still with other girls and I tried being with them too, but in the end, I preferred men.”

 

A swell of jealous came into Roger’s chest, causing him to huff a bit. “And you were with men while with me?” The idea of John being with someone else made the blond feel tight and annoyed, his arms crossing over his chest defensively. 

 

“We weren’t exclusive until seventy-four,” John told him carefully. “After that, we sort of realized what we wanted was each other. 

 

“If we’ve only been exclusive for three years, why do we count five?” 

 

John smiled softly at the question, tilting his head back to look directly into Roger’s eyes. “Because. You told me the moment you kissed me was the day you knew we’d be together. So you count that was the day this all started.” 

 

“So I kissed you first?” Roger asked, like the idea of taking the first step towards something. “Where?” 

 

“In the back of the van,” John admitted. “It was after rehearsal. We had gotten bumped from a venue and were having a drink as we wallowed in our sadness.” 

 

“Don’t tell me our first kiss was a drunken mess.”

 

“We couldn’t afford to get drunk. We shared a beer and bitched about our lives. I confessed I didn’t plan on staying in the band after I graduated and you practically threw a tantrum right there.” 

 

Roger rolled his eyes. He knew he could be a dramatic little shit at times, but throwing a tantrum over someone leaving the band seemed rather off. Then again, from what Brian said about them going through bass player after bass player, maybe it really isn’t that surprising. 

 

“So I kissed you, and then what?” 

 

“We kissed some more. We kissed a lot before finally deciding to just get the shagging over with.”

 

“Did that happen in the van as well?” 

 

“Yes, but not on the first time. Our first time was in the flat we all shared.” John confessed. 

 

“In that tiny hole in the wall?” 

 

John hummed, smiling to himself now. “Brian and Freddie went into town. I dragged you into my room and allowed you to . . . _pop my cherry_ , as the Americans say.” John said, looking oh so very proud of himself. 

 

Roger was practically beaming now, imagining himself following John down like a lost puppy, oh so very eager to finally have some physical activity with the fellow he had been snogging for God knows how long. 

 

“So we just kissed and shagged for two years before finally realizing we wanted more?”

 

“Basically.” 

 

“What was it that made us see the light?”

 

John thought for a long moment, looking away from Roger to gaze up at the picture of the two of them together. They were seated together, wrapped up in warm, white bathrobes after a terribly long photoshoot that took ages to finish up. 

 

“It just wasn’t worth it anymore. Pretending like being together wasn’t something we wanted. We would go out and flirt with girls but were more content with returning back and being on our own. We didn’t want groupies or long distance relationships. We didn’t want to settle for people just to put on a show. You wanted me and I wanted you. Simple as that.” 

 

“And now we have that,” Roger replied quietly. “Or at least we did before my selfish heart got the best of us.”

 

John shook his head, turning to step closer to the blond. “You weren’t being selfish, Roger. Choosing to stay a secret was a conscious choice, one we both agreed on in the early days of our relationship when we didn’t even know if we were going to last or not.” 

 

“But we did.” Roger reminded him. He reached out, taking John’s good hand in his own. He lifted it up, lacing their fingers together as he rests their joint hands against his chest. “I’m still here, John. I know there is something there between us. I can feel it. Just give me a chance to prove it to you.” 

 

John watched him, those green eyes shimmering with absolute delight. “Okay,” He answered. 

 

Roger had to fight back the urge to smother the brunet with kisses, instead choosing to send him off so they could both change for their apparent date. 

 

The two had gone back and forth between what a date should be, with John saying they should just go out for some tea, while Roger insisted that tea was not a fucking date. John has mentioned that sometimes when they went out into the country during recordings, they would turn it into a bit of a getaway and would take long drives and grab whatever food they could. 

 

Roger took this as a pretty decent idea and urged John to hand over the keys to his car. It would be the first time he drove since the accident and while Roger knew John had the utmost faith in him, he understood his hesitation. Still, he gave the key to the blond and followed him into the nice but not exactly flashy car that was in his name. 

 

Roger felt good, being behind the wheel again. He didn’t remember a thing about the accident and he took that as a challenge to not worry about how his driving was. Roger had no real clue where they lived so he just drove along the roads, enjoying the view as they went. He found that half the time John was either looking at him or looking out the window, enjoying their moment together.

 

They had grabbed food in town, which seemed to be a bit of a mistake as both were recognized as soon as they got out of the car. Roger played it off cool, with John handling their take away. Roger may still be missing a few screws but he would smile and put on a show as good as Freddie could.

 

After grabbing their meals, they hurried the hell out of there, slipping back into the car and off to a place where they could relax. Roger was sure that there was a place they could go; drop their names and have a seat far out of sight so they could be together for a real date. Until then, they’d deal with their makeshift picnic, hiding behind an old tree and John’s car as they laid out their jackets and had their splendor, the gentle radio playing on behind them.

 

The chill was still in the air, with spring right around the corner. Roger froze suddenly, realizing the fateful day that he had completely forgotten about. “Valentines Day.” He spoke suddenly. The day had come to pass and John had mentioned that the holiday was one of Roger’s favorite now. 

 

It was meant to be celebrated with the one you loved and Roger had no idea if he and John were even in the same room when the day came. 

 

“Last year you bought be four dozen roses,” John told him with a cheeky smile. “It was ridiculous. You set them up in individual vases and set them about throughout the house. I kept tripping over them.”

 

“Why roses? Seems a bit cliche for me.” 

 

Roger had never been a full-on romantic but surely he was better than just flowers and candies. 

 

“It is. Once an article was written on the band. They asked us our favorite things. Food and flowers and other unimportant things like that. I said a rose was my favorite flower and you refused to let it go. You said it was unoriginal and boring. Ever since then, you’ve been giving them to me.” 

 

“I was a very unique boyfriend, wasn’t I?” Roger laughed, leaning back against the car. 

 

“One of a kind,” John answered, turning his head to look off into the sunset. 

 

Roger was pleased to know that he had done something right over the past few years. Gone was the young lad that would sleep with girls and forget their names. In his place was a man with a loyal, steady relationship that had been going on longer than most marriages. 

 

The song on the radio ended and slowly transitioned into another. It was fairly familiar to Roger and by the way, John smiled and shook his head, it didn’t take much thinking to realize it was one of theirs.

 

And what an odd feeling that was! Being in a bad was one thing, but to hear your song play so casually on the radio, to know that you really truly made it. Roger could burst from his seams at the very thought! 

 

“By far the most romantic song we have to offer,” John admitted. “One of our favorites as well. Freddie wrote it.”

 

“Impressive. Sounds so fun yet the lyrics are bloody heartbreaking.” 

 

The music video had been painfully simple. Just them singing the song. Nothing wild or dramatic. Just them doing what they did best. Brian had mentioned that it was one of the last music videos they had done and it turned out to be one of their favorites. Roger was proud of that fact. Proud of the work they had done up to this point. 

 

“That’s Freddie for you. He knows all about heartbreak.” John mentioned, his good arm wrapping around his knee as he leaned back casually against the side of the car.

 

“No one knows heartbreak like us, John,” Roger argued quietly. 

 

Freddie was a gifted songwriter, but no rhythm or lyric could ever hold a candle to the pain Roger and John had done through in the past several months. 

 

Roger once again caught himself watching John, taking in the way he carried himself and the absolute beauty that was his mere existence. How he had gotten a guy like John to give him a shot was beyond his understanding. After all, Roger had never been questioning, never thought he’d ever want to fool around with another man. And yet it seemed John had been everything to him and vice verse. 

 

“John,” he called out, catching the attention of the man. Those grayish green eyes sparkled in the changing colors of the sun and Roger found himself unable to stop his moving forward.

 

The kiss was careful and calculated. Roger didn’t remember much from kissing aside from all the times back in uni when he was just dumb and drunk and stupid. He always liked kissing. It was a good distraction from the things around him and John had gotten quite good at during his teenage years. In the back of his fuzzy minds, he thought of all the girls he had snogged without care back in university; batting his bright blue eyes and pouting his bright red lips. 

 

However, Roger wasn’t a silly uni student any longer but rather a grown man kissing another grown man. 

 

When he pulled away, he was left smiling, finding that while kissing John was far different from kissing pretty teenage school girls, he quite liked it. John was holding back ever so slightly, perhaps for Roger’s sake, but Roger knew when someone was enjoying themselves around him. 

 

“You know, I think I might actually remember doing this with you,” Roger mentioned as they settled back against the car. Roger reached out freely, tugging at the sleeve of John’s shirt to bring him closer. “I could use a bit of a reminder though.” 

 

The wheels inside the brunet’s head began turning and then promptly stopped when he realized just exactly what Roger was saying. “Cheeky bastard,” John muttered, his smile absolutely beaming as he pulled Roger back into him, their lips crashing together for another eager kiss.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Only four more chapters left. Are y'all ready for this to end because I am NOT.
> 
> Please tell us what you thought down belong. Reading all your comments (especially the beautifully long-winded ones) make us feel like this is all worthwhile and we're not just wasting time as we waste away on this dying rock thats floating out in space.
> 
> ALSO! Extra points to you if you can name the Queen song that plays on the radio in their car.


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ready for that slow burn to finally fizzle out? 
> 
> Exit from the pain train to your left and to your right, please enter the sexual content caboose!

The last relationship Roger remembered in full was with a girl named Lydia. She had red hair and big tits. She was loud and brash and so very full of herself. Roger and she didn’t fit well at all and the relationship crumbled easily enough. Roger wasn’t sad about it, as he knew there would be others out there for him; more fish in the sea as they.

 

Now, many years later, Roger had found someone else, just as he knew he would. Someone far, far different from his uni girlfriend. John wasn’t a redhead and he didn’t have big tits, or any tits actually. He wasn’t loud, he wasn’t brash, and he wasn’t full of himself in the least. He was proper and sweet. He could be snarky if he wanted to and have as much attitude as one would expect from a rockstar. 

 

Roger tried to find a good middle ground in what he remembered being imitated with another and what be was currently meant to be doing with John. The brunet was truly a blessing, as he hadn’t pushed Roger in the days to come. If anything, it was Roger who continued to take the next step. 

 

They were a couple, were they not? Couples should be kissing and going out on dates. Couples were meant to share a home and a bed. John had tried to keep the distance, and Roger knew why. While it was nice that the blond was beginning to come around, there was still a piece of him missing and Roger knew that John feared what would happen if this backfired. If somehow, someway, Roger didn’t feel the connection they once felt. 

 

John couldn’t afford to get his hopes up and that was what hurt Roger most of all. Knowing this wonderful man who loved and supported him oh so very much was so willing to push his own feelings aside so Roger could have time to adjust. 

 

They had done little things, with the approval of the man. Kissing had quickly become something of a second nature for them, greeting one another with a soft peck that later on would turn into a complete snog session.

 

Roger knew people who liked to experiment back in university; with the belief of free love high up in the air, it wasn’t unlikely for him to stumble upon something a bit out of the ordinary. Roger had never thought about getting involved with such things, and yet he found himself completely at ease with settling down with John on the couch, his arms wrapped around the skinny man as they kissed and kissed. 

 

Things had gone a bit south a time or two, with their bodies reacting in the only proper way one could imagine. Roger had stopped cold, pulling away when he felt himself growing hard at the way John’s hand felt on his knee, despite how simple it seemed. 

 

John didn’t seem worried, or angry, or even annoyed. He would whisper again and again that it was fine. Utterly and completely. He would pat Roger’s shoulder the way you would a friend after their football team lost the big game and hurried on out of the room to take care of himself, leaving Roger a way that he couldn’t describe. 

 

He was turned on, that much was obvious and even if he didn’t fully understand why Roger would never deny it. John may not have been women, but he was gorgeous in his own way. Pretty smile with bright eyes. Wonderful hips that jutted out in a way that always seemed to catch Roger’s attention. Slim body with a pert bottom. He wasn’t leggy like Brian, but he could hold his own well enough. John was beautiful and sexy without even trying and Roger wasn’t going pretend like he wasn’t. 

 

Perhaps it was just the way he was raised, shoved in a small town where swishy boys who took it were meant to be stoned and beaten. Where old rules in a shitty book were used against you. Roger hadn’t cared about rules much and to be honest, he didn’t care about it now. 

 

Religion had never been very important to him and he didn’t really care about what other people thought. He wanted to kiss John because he was lovely, and yet even now when he had come to realize that he wanted to, he wasn’t able to. There had been a day when they went into town. Freddie wanted to meet up for brunch and enjoy the day together — not as the band, but just as mates. 

 

Roger and John had arrived first and were sitting outside, enjoying the weather. The rain had stopped and the chill had paused; the sun beaming down on them as the morning dew finally went away. They were waiting on Freddie to arrive and John was having a smoke as Brian spoke about something boring. 

 

It was a nice scene and Roger reached out, attempting to hold John’s hand but he only touched it for a moment. John ripped his hand away as if he had been electrocuted by the mere touch. His eyes were on Roger’s in a second, a small shake of his head is the only response. 

 

No. 

 

No hand holding. No kissing. No touching. Nothing in public or anywhere under a watchful eye. Roger looked away, seeing the other couples in the area sitting together and looking oh so happy in love. It just didn’t make sense. How was Roger supposed to get used to the idea of being in a relationship when he couldn’t actually be in that relationship? 

 

Roger wanted to bring this up to John, but he remembered that this had been the problem from the start. Roger being greedy and wanting more than John could give. With John keeping him at bay as he was, he feared what might come of them if Roger once again pushed the subject closer and closer off the edge. 

 

So he remained good and stayed quiet. He accepted the small amount of affection that John would give him. The tiny kisses and gentle caresses they would share when they were behind closed doors. 

 

John had explained that it wouldn’t be much longer until the album dropped and the press junkets would begin. This was the time for them to be relaxing, enjoying the gift of doing nothing before everything blew up in their faces.

 

Roger didn’t want to know the hell that would come when it would be time for them to go on tour. It was a strange sensation, something he should be ready for, but instead, he feared the problems it may cause, even if the plans for it were still in the works. 

 

Roger tried to use his time wisely, deciding to sit alone in the music room of the mansion, strumming on his guitar. It was a nice acoustic instrument. Properly tuned and nicely taken care of. Roger had played guitar from when he was a lad, but it was obvious over the past few years he had taken it upon himself to be more serious about the subject. 

 

He strummed along to the song he had written for his small solo attempt, pausing when he caught the door opening in the corner of his eye. He was blushing and he didn’t know why. Not like John hadn’t seen him practice before, yet there was something far more intimate now. 

 

Maybe because he was so confident behind his drum kit. He knew that instrument inside and out yet with guitar, it was a tad out of his element. The guitar was meant for Brian, who was a genius or the bass for John, who was practically a prodigy. 

 

Roger was still learning, still adjusting. He knew he would never be a great solo star, but he was trying, putting in the effort to show that he was a good musician, with or without a giant name like Queen backing him. 

 

“Just . . . fiddling about.” He mentioned, setting the guitar down on the stand. 

 

John was watching him, those green eyes trained on him carefully. Roger found that he could tell when John was thinking, the way his eyes narrowed or the way the tips of his toes kicked at the ground. He was doing now and Roger could only imagine what was on that beautiful mind. 

 

“I have something for you.” He announced after a moment.

 

Roger raised a brow, standing to his feet. “Do you now?” He asked curiously, moving deeper into the room, meeting John in the middle. “And what would it be?” 

 

“Come with me,” 

 

John turned and led him up the stairs. Roger took in the fact that they were alone in their own home and took John’s good hand in his own. John no longer looked at him with unsure eyes and easily grasp the other man’s hand as they continued on their journey through the mansion. 

 

Roger’s heart was practically in his throat as John brought him up to his bedroom. Not the room they were meant to be sharing but still weren’t. Roger had tried to get John to join him, but the brunet was a stubborn bitch at times. He insisted that over time, they would join one another after hours, but for now, sleeping separately was just better for them both. 

 

Roger didn’t agree in the least, arguing that his room was too vacant and the bed was too big, but John didn’t want to fight on it. He would kiss him until he was quiet, something Roger found truly was a good way to end any conversation. 

 

He went to sit on the half-sized bed as John walked around the room, opening the tiny closet door. In the back of Roger’s stupid, sex-driven mind he wondered if there was some sexy little outfit John had for him. In his uni days, Roger had a thing for French maids and pretty school girls in short skirts, though he would never want John in anything close to that.

 

Anything tight or really, anything loose. Anything at all would look good on John. The man could wear a bloody cowboy hat and he’d make it look good. 

 

Instead of clothing, however, John pulled out a guitar case, holding it carefully as he set it down beside Roger on the bed. 

 

“Go on. Open it.” John insisted.

 

Without having to be told twice, Roger turned and unzipped the case, opening it carefully. Inside sat a guitar. No, no. Not just a regular guitar. Not like the acoustic sitting downstairs in their music room. It was a Stratocaster, shiny and new. A gorgeous beige color with white trimmings. Roger looked between the gift and John, carefully lifting it from its case. 

 

“Every Christmas, we buy one another one gift for as many years we had been together,” John explained to him. 

 

“But this would make five,” Roger mentioned. 

 

“You can count. What a smart man I have,” John teased, though his tone wasn’t cruel, only playful. “We have a tradition. For the number of years together, we give small gifts and then one big gift to signify the upcoming year. Last year, I got you spinning wheels for your car.” 

 

“What did I get you?” Roger asked curiously. 

 

John smiled in a way that made Roger’s heartache in the best of ways. “There was a party, one that Freddie had thrown. It was a bit more casual so we felt all right to be a bit more . . . comfortable. You surprised me with a song.” 

 

Roger raised a brow, surprised by this. “I sang for you?” He asked. It wasn’t the most unbelievable thing. In fact, it seemed rather on brand. After all, he was, in fact, a good singer. His career path and all. 

 

“You came down the stairs wearing a shimmering suit and bowtie, singing your heart out to a Four Seasons song.” 

 

“Bloody disco?!” Roger demanded, staring at the man. The memories weren’t strong, but he could remember hearing one of the tunes hit European radio stations and he promptly changed the station. They weren’t terrible, but certainly weren’t his cup of tea. Roger liked rock and roll and nothing else. “God, I must love you.” 

 

John let out a small laugh, bobbing his head. Deep in his heart, Roger knew that to be a fact and while John had told him all about the sticky sweet, romantic things he had done for him in the past years, Roger still felt like he could do better. 

 

“I wish I knew what I had gotten you.” He confessed, his fingers running gently over the strings of the guitar. 

 

“You came back to me, Roger,” John answered him. 

 

“Not completely,” The blond reminded him. There was still so much missing. Pieces of his mind that would be lost forever it seemed.

 

“You still came back. You’re still alive.” John pressed on. “And that’s more than enough.”

 

Roger wanted to believe his words, and in time, he was sure he would. But for now, the gentle words fell flat and all Roger could do was admire the gorgeous gift he had been given. Not just the guitar, but the second chance at a happy life. 

 

Unfortunately, not everything could be as fun and fluffy as receiving gifts. Roger could sense a change in John that wasn’t something he could easily ignore and he blamed it on the lack of intimacy the two were experiencing. 

 

Roger was trying, Christ he was! They were getting closer and closer to a place that finally seemed normal. Heavy petting and ass grabbing were quickly becoming a regular. Roger had grabbed the man into that tiny bed of his, finding that they spent the entirety of the afternoon with their tongues down one another throats and hips aligned as they rutted together like a couple of teenagers. 

 

All the things he had down back when he was a stupid kid in school were nothing compared to this and Roger found himself quickly falling into place with John physically, but there was still something in his way. Something keeping him and John from going all the way. 

 

He knew it was silly and he didn’t want to talk about it. He wanted to pretend like it didn’t matter as none of this fucking mattered, but it did and John could sense it. 

 

The man cornered him when he least expected it, prying out all the emotions and harsh feelings that Roger had bottled up inside. He knew there was a physical difference between being with John and being with a woman and that was okay. But it was the other shit, the keeping it all closed up that bothered him. 

 

Like he was supposed to be ashamed of it when he didn’t want to be. He wanted to hold John’s hand and keep him close. He wanted to lie in bed with him on a lazy Sunday morning, kissing as the sun came in through the windows. He wanted to fuck him or make love to him or do whatever the hell they wanted to call it. 

 

He wanted all of that and yet they couldn’t. Everything had to be so quiet, so reserved and it made it all the more confusing. 

 

John was silent for a moment, just taking it all in. Neither of them wanted to fight, wanted to argue. Roger wanted to cut the conversation and pull John in for a smothering kiss until they both forget about it, but there wouldn’t be anymore forgetting. Roger refused. They had to move on from all of this. 

 

John seemed to agree and decided to go for a walk to clear his head. When he returned, Roger was practically asleep on the couch, having sat around to wait for him. When John came to join him, he admitted to having a solution.

 

“You want me to go _where_?” Roger asked, not too sure if he had actually heard him correctly. 

 

“A gay club. With Freddie.” John proclaimed carefully. “I want you to be comfortable with this, Roger. I may have been the only man you ever did anything with, but it’s obvious you fancy them just as you do women.” 

 

“That doesn’t explain why you think I should go out to a club.”

 

John moved closer to him then, taking his hand in his own. “I want you to know what it feels like to be out in a crowd while with another man,” John explained. “I know you hate dancing, but you don’t have to dance. You can sit by the bar and have a drink as all the men come up and flirt with you.”

 

“You want them to flirt with me?” Roger asked, his voice a pitch higher than normal. “What, do you want me to find a man to shag as well?” 

 

John shrugged, his gaze dropped slightly. “If you see fit.”

 

“John!” 

 

“I just want you to be happy!” John swore. “I want you to experience things, all right? I want you to go out and meet people, meet other men who can give you what I can’t.” John squeezed his hand, his thumb racing nervous circles on the index between his pointer and thumb. “Please, Roger. Just do this one thing for me.” 

 

Not once since this whole thing began had John asked him for another. All the man wanted was for him to survive and when he did, he fought tooth and nail to help him adjust to the life they were currently living. As much as Roger hated it, he had no reason not to do this one tiny favor for the man who he cared so deeply for. 

 

“Fine!” Roger snapped. “But I don’t like it.” 

 

John leaned forward, pressing his forehead against Roger’s shoulder. “I don’t like it either,” he confessed quietly. “but I think it’s for the best.” 

 

After a short conversation with Freddie on the phone, Roger dressed in clothes that deemed appropriate for the night. Everything he owned was nice and worthy of showing off, but this certainly topped the bill. Everything was black and shiny and tight. His hair, which he had finally gotten used to, was brushed back and hardened with hairspray. He looked himself over in the mirror and had to admit, he looked good. 

 

John refused to give him look, wanting him not to worry about the man that would be waiting up at home. 

 

Freddie had sent a town car to pick him up and without even a word of goodbye, Roger slipped out the door and went off for the night. The lead singer did his best to prep Roger on what to expect. Loud, bouncy music, lots of hot, sweaty guys all around. He promised that he would go easy on him. A place like this was so private, that even if anybody did recognize Roger, they’d be too busy with their own shit to worry why the drummer of Queen was trying to get with another guy. 

 

Roger tried to argue that he didn’t plan on getting laid during the night, but Freddie just pats him on the shoulder and shoved a condom in his hand. “Safety first darling. Deacy’s orders.” 

 

Roger’s stomach was in absolute knots at the idea of John telling Freddie to make sure Roger had a condom on him. The fact that the man was thinking it over and looking out for him made it all the worse as they arrived. 

 

The music was loud and made Roger’s ears want to bleed. The service at the bar was lousy and every drink he ordered took far too long to get to him. He followed Freddie around like a lost little duckling until Paul of all people arrived to whisk him away. 

 

“Roger’s a big boy, Freddie. He can take care of himself. And if not, then he shouldn’t be here.” Paul argued when Freddie insisted that Roger was to stay with them during the night. 

 

“Hey, Paul? Why don’t you go suck on a cock that doesn’t pay you?” Roger fired back, pushing off the bar to leave the situation. 

 

He cut through the dance floor, ignoring all the sweaty bodies until he made it down the hall to the bathroom. His mind was fuzzy from the drinks, but not enough to make him sick. He tried going in and washing his face, but the toilet was taking so chucked it all and went out for a smoke. 

 

The spring air was cooler in the night and as he smoked down his cigarette Roger found that he wasn’t alone. Another man was outside, taking a few drags as the echoing sound of the music playing from the club filled around them.

 

The man was handsome in his own right. Styled hair and a leather vest. Roger didn’t know if he had a type or not, but the guy would have checked the boxes if he did. Their gaze met and Roger had to admit, there was something there. An inkling, though it reminded him of the same he felt with the blond from the party all those months ago. 

 

Roger enjoyed good looking people, as he himself was a good looking person. There was nothing wrong with thinking someone was attractive and this man was. He kept up a decent conversation as they stood together and smoked. 

 

And when he offered Roger a drink, he agreed to that as well. Roger didn’t want to dance and the man didn’t seem to mind. When the night grew later and Freddie was off doing who knows what with that satanic cum-dumpster Prenter, Roger agreed to go out for another smoke. 

 

Before he could even get the dragon Zippo from his pocket, Roger was pushed up against the wall by the man, their lips pressed together for a kiss that practically screamed of want and need. 

 

Roger didn’t kiss him back at first, finding that the kiss was too rough right off the bat. The man seemed to notice and softened a bit for the second and Roger found himself dipping his toes into the water. Kissing wasn’t something he had ever disliked and whether it be male or female, he knew it would be something he would want to do.

 

Yet as the man began to move in closer and the heavy reminder of the condom burning a hole in his denim pocket lingered in the front of his mind, Roger found himself pulling away. The man looked disappointed, but Roger wasn’t. With a small apology, the blond left the alleyway, ignoring the door of the club and continued on down until he was off to where the cars were parked. 

 

He felt a small ounce of guilt, abandoning Freddie at the club, but as the town car pulled away from the club and in the direction of home, Roger found that he just couldn’t care about anything other than that: he was going home. 

 

Making his way into the mansion, Roger thought about screaming his name through the place, using the echoes to force him out. He decided against that, going directly for the stairs. He took two at a time, turning the corner as he burst into the small bedroom that John occupied.

 

Instead of finding the sleeping brunet, the bed was still freshly made and tucked away easily neatly. Roger was a tad bit confused and went back down the stairs, beginning his search. He tried the library and the music room, both of which came empty. Roger checked the sitting room and found it empty as well, with the fireplace ice cold having not been used since the weather got nicer. 

 

Roger checked the library as well, though no books were left disturbed. Roger was beginning to wonder if John had gone out on his own, whether it be with Brian or himself or some of the other people he associated with. Clinging to this defeat, Roger went back up the stairs and down the hall to his bedroom. 

 

There, wrapped up in the middle of the bed in the soften comforter imaginable, Roger found John. He looked so small, curled up into the tightest ball, practically hidden under the blankets and he nestled against the pillows.

 

Roger moved deeper into the room, flipping on the lights before going to settle in the edge of the bed. He watched him for a moment, taking in the sheer innocence of him sleeping. He looked so gentle and worn; Roger almost felt bad for wanting to wake him. 

 

But eventually, John must have sensed his presence or the lights hitting his eyelids finally pulled him from his slumber. John moved to sit up, his short hair tousled from sleep. He lifted his hands, rubbing the heels against his eyes as a yawn slipped from his lips. 

 

“What are you doing back?” He asked. John squished, looking across the way to see the time. Roger had barely been gone for a few hours.

 

“Why did you fall asleep in here?” Roger asked, ignoring John’s own question for the time being. 

 

The bass player straightened in his seat on the mattress, looking to the drummer with guilty eyes. He made a move to leave, but Roger stopped him with a hand on his arm. 

 

“This is our room, John. You can stay here.” He told him. “I want you to stay here.” Roger had been trying to convince the man to join him in their bed for weeks on end, wanting him to spend the night and go back to the way things used to be.

 

Roger didn’t think they’d do more than just have a cuddle but John felt that as if he couldn’t do even something as minimal as bed sharing would be too close for comfort. It would make him feel like everything was back to normal and then they’d have the rude awakening as Roger ran off in the morning to get away from his morning wood.

 

But Roger was done running away. From this, from himself, and from John.

 

“How was the club?” John asked, sitting up against the pillows, doing his best to look casual. Trying to look like he didn’t force Roger to go to the damn club in the first place. 

 

“Terrible,” Roger answered him simply. “The music was ghastly and the drinks were overpriced. Everyone looked at me like I was the new piece on the market and I hated it.” 

 

“You love being looked at.” John stared, those green eyes rolling back. 

 

“I love it when I am on stage! When the crowds are singing our songs and cheering us on. I love it when you look at me, John. Those guys back at the club were nothing compared to you.” 

 

Roger turned to face John now, sitting fully on the bed with him. Reaching out, he took John’s hand in his own, squeezing it tightly. “I kissed someone. A man behind the club. I liked it, John.” He admitted. John’s expression crumbled slightly and the brunet tilted his head ever so slightly to avoid Roger’s face but the blond caught him, pulling him back until the grayish green and heavenly blue mixed again.

 

“I’m going to like kissing people, John. Men and women. That’s never going to change, but I’ll never like it as much as I like kissing you. And do you know why? Because I love you, John. I could have stayed at that club and fucked every man that caught my eye but I didn’t because why would I do that when I have you here waiting for me?”

 

“I wasn’t waiting,” John mumbled quietly. “I just . . . I missed this bed.” 

 

“Dammit John, can I just confess without you taking the piss?” Roger demanded but there was a smile on his face. Even in a time like this, so high, so stressful he adored that silly man. “I don’t need the past seven years to know that I love you. My mind may be wiped but my heart is still here, John. And it’s still beating for you. I don’t want to experiment with other blokes or take it slow. I just want you. Understand?” 

 

John’s moment to respond felt like hours to Roger but when the bassist replied with a simple, “Yes,” the two men shared a smile.

 

Even though it was late and John was still half-awake from his slumber, Roger had to take the plunge. He was given the objective to go to a gay club and find someone sweet to kiss, even share a bed with. He did kiss someone. Check. But he had yet to bed anyone and he wasn’t going end his night without doing everything on his list.

 

“Take me to bed, John. Please.” Roger’s voice was low, gentle, but desperate. John’s eyes widened a bit before he pushed away from the sheets fully, leaning forward to plant a kiss on the drummer’s lips.

 

Roger was quick to deepen it. Yes, he really liked kissing John. It only took a few moments of John’s tongue exploring his mouth to get excited over what his tongue, his hands, his . . . everything . . . would feel on Roger.

 

It took John no time at all to grab the essentials, all the while explaining a bit here and there on how it all works. Roger raised his hand like a schoolboy as John explained how Roger would top. “No, no. Not that. I want you to be on top, John.”

 

Roger had been thinking about it for a while, being intimate with John. Sure, Roger was a man who knew how to take what he wanted and give it all he had, but when John had told him that they went back and forth on who was giving and who was receiving, he found those dirty thoughts lingering in the back of his mind. Having John on top of him or more realistically, behind him. 

 

John’s eyes went wide for a second before he licked his lips, processing what this Roger was 100% all in for. “Okay.”

 

Roger was practically giddy as John agreed, crawling back on the bed and crawling on top of his lover. Roger worked to remove John’s night-time clothing piece by piece, admiring his longer, yet petite torso, the small little brown hairs across his chest and around his belly-button. “I am so lucky.”

 

John raised a brow, “And we haven’t even got started yet love.” John helped the blond take off his shirt. “Would you like me to take off your trousers or shall I?”

 

Roger wiggled his toes, biting his lip to mock think about what he wanted to do. He knew exactly what he wanted but he likes to torture the brunet a bit, “Oh why don’t you?”

 

Roger was caught off guard when John pulled off his trousers and knickers in one, almost fluid motion. The brunet let out what sounded like a groan - or moan, as Roger surprised with a half-hard cock. “Oh yes, I don’t know what we are ever going to do with this,” Roger spoke of his penis and this made John snicker.

 

“I’ll make sure he gets some attention, don’t you worry,” John admitted with a blush. Roger observed that John was also getting there. He had yet to see much of John’s member but now he was seeing in, with the light on, in all its glory. Roger was not mad about it, one bit.

 

Roger was staring at John worked to get them ready that he didn’t realize the brunet was speaking again, “Finger’s first. Have to open you up a bit; worry not — I will use the lube.”

 

Roger wasn’t sure how to position himself, so he put a pillow behind his head and leaned up on his elbows to watch what John was doing. The brunet placed a decent amount of lubricant on his fingers before he asked the brunet another question, “On your stomach or back?”

 

“Why on my stomach . . . oh right, men do it more often that way. No-no. I want to face you. You know, as the ladies do.” John gave a confused look and even Roger realized how stupid he sounded. Ladies could also be on their stomachs but Roger meant to convey that did not make as much sense as it was for men to be on their stomachs or on all fours.

 

Grabbing a pillow from his side of the bed, John used it and placed underneath Roger’s bum, “You tell me if you want to stop, yeah?”

 

Roger took a deep breath. It was happening. OK. No. He has done this many times before but to his state at the moment, this was new. He felt slightly exposed but he liked it, especially with how calm, easy John was with the whole, odd situation that was Roger’s “first time.” It would be a bit more difficult with John’s arm in the sling, but they would make do. 

 

“Spread your legs a bit more . . . yes, thank you.” On his knees, John inched closer to the blond. As Roger took a deep breath out, a finger circled his entrance. Nothing yet. All good. Then a finger probed inside and Roger let out a small yelp. John questioned if he wanted to stop and Roger assured that he was caught off-guard by the feeling of a finger _down there_. 

 

“You know . . . it’s not that bad . . . isn’t it supposed to hurt?” 

 

John shook his head, “You’re not a virgin, Roger. Not even remotely.” 

 

“When was the last time we were like this?” Roger questioned. “When did we last have sex?” 

 

“With you bottoming? A few days before our fight.” 

 

“And when I was on top?” 

 

John was quiet for a moment, his hand stilling. “The morning of our argument.” He confessed quietly. “Shall we go on?” 

 

“Oh, yes - yes. Give me another finger.” John practically rolled his eyes as he placed a second finger inside, now getting a bit more daring and pushing them both further in. Roger groaned, feeling a bit of pleasure that was so foreign to this him.

 

By the time a third finger was inserted, Roger was a babbling lunatic. Apparently, even this 1970s version of Roger was loud in bed, especially when he bottomed. Roger was left whining that if John was going to keep going, grazing his prostate over and over again with his long, deft fingers, that he was going to come right then and there.

 

John did as he was told and got into position. Just watching Roger become a bumbling fool got the brunet going. He lathered himself up well and knelt between the drummer’s legs. “Ready?”

 

“Give it to me, John” Roger practically growled, his whole disposition changed due to the high he was on by the brunet’s skilled fingers. John worked slowly at first, knowing that this was actually nothing new for Roger but still not going in to fast. Literally, one inch at a time. 

 

Roger groaned as John pushed further in. By the time John had bottomed out, Roger grimaced. John stayed in the position to let the blond get used to the feeling before pulling out and again, thrusting slowly back in. 

 

One could not compare a cock to fingers. Roger did not feel so tight but tight enough that he needed a minute to get used to the sensation. John really knew how to read his body well because he did exactly this - waiting for the blond’s breath to even out again. Roger adored this non-verbal understanding and made sure to pull John forward and down to give him a very passionate, wet kiss.

 

By the time the brunet got a good rhythm going, Roger finally got to witness John reacting to the good feeling. Every time he got to bottom out, followed by a quick pull out, he moaned. Roger was breathless but he hasn't let a blubbering mess until John repositioned one his legs so that it was hooked on John’s shoulders and then all hell broke loose. Roger grabbed hold of the scenes and thanked the lord far more than he ever did as a child in church.

 

Such actions only assisted the brunet further, because he was so close. Roger could tell. And so was he. A few more thrusts and he’d be off. Apparently, John would not settle for that. He was about ready to finish in a moment and in desperation to finish as close to Roger as possible, John thrust in hard, fast and then took hold of Roger’s cock and pumped into ecstasy. Roger cried out at the brunet’s touch and cried out again when he came hard on his own abdomen. John gave himself a few more thrusts inside of the drummer before he also let out a wail, coming fast and deep inside.

 

“God, even without your memory you’re a screamer.” John laughed when he finally pulled out, standing from the bed to grab a washcloth for both of them.

 

“Yes, I am a talker in bed but I assure you . . . I have never screamed that loud with a woman.”

 

John sat at the blond’s side and lovingly wiped his sticky abdomen, “You’ve been with me longer than you’ve been with any woman, Roge. Besides, they never touched your prostate.”

 

“You did . . . and I liked it.” Roger confessed with a sleepy, yet bright smile. “You’re good at that, you know.” Roger lifted his hand, wiggling his fingers to show off what he meant. 

 

“Just wait until my playing hand is fixed,” John told him, a bold look slipping across his face. 

 

Roger let out a sound that seemed to be a mix between a moan and a whimper. “Christ, Deacy. I could have finished from that alone.” 

 

John let out a small laugh, his smile eager and infectious. “Now you know what the inspiration for _Misfire_ was.” 

 

Roger lifted his head, his eyes narrowing as he looked at the love of his life and thought over the lyrics of the titular song. “Oh, shut up!” 

 

Even though Roger was practically fucked out and goddammit tired, he still had enough energy to crawl over to John’s sat position and wrap his arms around him from behind, “Hey . . . I love you.”

 

John’s brows furrowed for a moment and his lips pursed inwards as if to hold something back even though Roger knew he didn’t have to hold back anymore. Things weren’t perfect and his memories may never come back, but none of that mattered anymore. Neither man wanted to continue to cling to the past when such a bright future was awaiting them. 

 

John craned his neck back a bit and met Roger’s lips, giving him a chaste, but a very loving peck on the lips. “I love you too.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Holy shit, that chapter was so freaking long. Please don't get used to it. I honestly thought about cutting it into two chapters, but I needed this story to had 15 chapters. I need things to end in either 5's or 0's because I am crazy. True story! Please know if any of my fics end in anything other than 5's or 0's, then I hate myself because of it. 
> 
> Hope you enjoyed that. I got a bit of backlash for having Roger kiss another guy, but I hope you get the reasoning behind it. 
> 
> Oh my god, this story is almost over. I'm broken? What am I gonna do when it's done? What are YOU gonna do when it's done? Fuck it, we'll suffer together.


	13. Chapter 13

It was warm out the following day, with winter officially over and spring finally sprung. Gone were the chilly snow days that kept their backyard completely covered and out from the ground came the gorgeous roses that John had told him about. Apparently, Roger had them planted after John bought the house, to give the garden a bit of life to it. Roses were John’s favorite flower and Roger wouldn’t want anything but them. 

 

Sleep had come easy to both the men, especially after how vigorous their night had been. Roger hadn’t imagined being intimate with someone the way he was with John, but now it was all he could think about. To John, it could have been the thousandth time he was inside of the blond, but for Roger, it was the first of many more to come. 

  
The two had fallen asleep wrapping up in one another, both feeling utterly and completely fucked in the best sense of the word. The way he felt when Roger first began to stir in the early morning wasn’t something he could easily describe. They had slept naked after taking a shower. Roger stayed under the spray, cleaning himself up as John switched the sheets on the bed. They didn’t have sex in the shower when John finally joined him, though the thought did pop into his mind a time or two. 

 

They shared a kiss here and there, both far too blissful to care about the water running cold over them. When they returned to their bed, climbing onto the crisp sheets, Roger was quick to pull John into him. They had slept alone for far too long and while Roger had no real idea of their sleep position situation, he easily found himself wrapping his arms around the man for a comfortable spoon. 

 

Roger found that he slept more peacefully than ever and that for the first time in weeks he hadn’t been dreaming of that mysterious lover that haunted his mind. Roger found that he no longer needed to dream of that person as they were sleeping comfortably right there in his arms. 

 

They stayed like that until the sun began to rise. Something else began to rise as well and John took a quick note of it, slowly rubbing back against John as the two began to stir away. 

 

“Is that a drum stick in your pocket or are you just happy to see me?” John teased, his voice heavy from sleep. 

 

“Cheeky bastard,” Roger muttered, pulling John in closer. 

 

They were slow and lazy with their lovemaking. Last night had (technically) been a whole new experience for Roger and they took their time to make sure the man was completely comfortable with everything they were doing. 

 

Now it was Roger’s turn to take control and while the biology might have been a bit different, Roger knew easily enough how to make someone feel good. He wasn’t nervous when he fingered John until he was open (especially since the bass player was more than happy to suck on his fingers to moisten them), nor was he worried he was doing something wrong when he was wrapped his lubricant covered hand around his cock. 

 

John didn’t turn around as Roger had done, and while the blond would have liked to have faced the man and kissed him as they did this, the chest-to-back position worked out just fine for the two. Roger had no recollection of doing it on his side as a dumb teen, but his adult self seemed to know the position all too well. 

 

He offered slow, deep thrust that seemed to work out for the two of them. Roger proved himself last night to be a bit of a screamer, but John was pretty vocal himself, making the sweetest sounds that Roger had ever seen. He angled his hips ever so slightly, causing the brunet to cry out in a way that nearly made the man finish right then and there. But he held on strong, keeping a firm grip on John’s raised knee while his lips left the tiniest of marks along John’s neck. 

 

Due to their secrecy, Roger was sure they had some rule about hickeys and whatnot, but he just couldn’t be bothered to care. They were so long in the moment that none of that bullshit mattered up to that point.

 

They had finished together, with Roger’s cock promptly nudging the sensitive bud deep inside his boyfriend, all while his hand was wrapped around John’s own throbbing member. They stayed there, clinging together as they fell off the edge and their senses finally came back around. 

 

They took their time dressing, knowing they didn’t have anything else they needed to do that day. Sweet, painfully gentle kisses had been exchanged and for the first time in a long time, Roger felt like everything was normal. 

 

Sure, there were still things missing and every day he was learning something new about himself, but having John by his side was enough to make it worth his while. Roger looked forward to the chances to come and didn’t want to waste another second worrying about whether or not his memory would come back. 

 

He didn’t want to continue looking back, only forward. 

 

Roger had gotten a call to say that his Ferrari had officially been put back together after months and months of work. John had offered to go with him to pick it up, but Roger wanted him to hang back and enjoy the day. 

 

Things were slowly going back to normal and while he adored spending every moment with the man, they were finally finished recording and John of all people deserved a break. He made a promise to return swiftly and give him another rounding romp in the bedroom. His memories might have been fucked but his sex drive was as good as ever. 

 

Roger had made plans with Brian and Freddie in town and the curly haired guitarist agreed to give him a lift to pick up the car once their afternoon was finished. When they came to pick him up, Roger kissed John goodbye in front of the two, grinning like that damn Cheshire cat from all the hooting and hollering he received from the guys. Roger didn’t give a damn, however. 

 

He got into the car and the other two babbled away, with Roger half listening as he tried to focus on the song playing on the radio. It was a Beatles track that had come out years ago and was never a favorite of his. It was too slow and too sweet, but now it made his heart swell as he thought about that wonderful man he had to return to when the day was up. 

 

Brian had been searching around for a birthday gift for Chrissie and the three went around and around, trying to find something spectacular. Roger had never been very good at giving people gifts, always being a tad bit more selfish and enjoying receiving rather than giving. 

 

Freddie, having apparently not changed much over the years, continued to suggest the gaudiest items he could. He wanted every single person in his life to look and feel as fabulous as he did, not fully caring if the actual items he was picking out were completely ridiculous.

 

Roger had wondered what he had done all the past years for John to celebrate his birthday. If it was something disgustingly romantic or kept it casual for both their sake. He looked forward to coming up with something as the months went on. 

 

Brian ended up buying Chrissie a lovely scarf that was terribly expensive but she was sure to appreciate. Roger bid the man ado, making sure to tease him about getting lucky just as Roger himself had done in the past twenty-four hours. 

 

It was like a dream, walking up to the Ferrari. By far the sexiest car Roger had ever seen in his entire life and you know that he had completely totaled it made his heart drop instantly. But now it was back in business, looking beautiful and brand new. They handed him the keys happily, as well as a small box of things that they were able to salvage. 

 

Roger sat behind the wheel in the parking out, taking in all the features and that ‘new car smell’ that he never really got to have until now. Skipping through the box, he found little things like different cassette tapes and magazines. There was a book he had been searching the library for a chain with the Queen emblem on it. 

  
Freddie had told him all about how he designed it himself and while the sight at first seemed rather busy and clunky, Roger couldn’t have been more proud of the things he and his mates had done in the past few years. 

 

The final item in the box was an even smaller box. He opened it curiously, finding a small ring inside; silver with onyx. It was a gorgeous piece, but not his style. No, it would look better on someone else. 

 

Better on John. 

 

_John!_

 

_Fucking John. Roger knew that getting involved with his bandmate all those years ago would land him in trouble. They should have put an end to it before they even put their third album out. Before people started to take the name Queen seriously. Before Roger even realized that having a cock in his mouth wasn’t something he’d be against doing._

 

_Roger had felt the house in a huff, needing to get far, far away. Not so much from John himself, but the situation. He knew was terrible. They had been having the same fight for so long and eventually, something was going to have to give. One of them was going to have to break. One would have to make a choice and the other would have to live with it._

 

_Roger didn’t know how much more he could take. He knew they weren’t like regular folk. They were fucking rock stars who sold out arenas and wrote hit songs. One day they would end up in the rock and roll hall of fame, with spinning gold albums plastered on their walls. They were never going to live normal lives, but that didn’t mean Roger didn’t long for one._

 

_At least to an extent. He knew it was silly and he knew it was selfish. Fighting over what? Going to a bloody Christmas party? Roger knew they had a good thing going, but he couldn’t help himself. He wanted more. He wanted to do the simple shit that Brian always complained about doing with Chrissie or the things that Freddie did without care._

 

_He wanted a life of his own with John by his side, without having to worry if they were standing too close or if someone was going to catch a glimpse of them stealing a kiss or not. How many more albums did he have to sell — how many more hits did they have to write — how much longer could they continue to rise to the top before they were finally allowed to do what they wanted?_

 

_Roger sat on the hood of the car, overlooking the lights. It was freezing out and it looked like it was going to snow. In his hand sat the ring that he had purchased not very long ago. He had found it in a regular jewelry store. Freddie and he had done out, hoping to buy themselves something nice. They had completed a song together and wanted to celebrate. While Freddie was off buying himself the most outrageous outfit, Roger wondered off towards the sparkling objects._

 

_Roger had never been a ring person. His hands were too occupied by the drum sticks and always got a bit too sweaty or clammy. He knew of another, however, who had always been rather fond of having something nice to show off, especially on his playing hand._

 

_Roger had bought it in a heartbeat, not even caring if it didn’t mean what everybody would think it meant._

 

_Or maybe that was exactly what he had meant when he decided to buy it._

 

_Roger knew they would never be able to be together with the same way Brian and Chrissie were. At least if there was something there, a piece of physical proof that the something between himself and John was real and existed, it would be enough to hold Roger over until the day they finally were able to be like every other couple._

 

_Having anything to show that they were a couple would hold Roger over for eternity._

 

_He didn’t know if he would even accept it. John made it very clear that he wanted nothing to do with coming out and Roger couldn’t blame him. Being fearless was nice in theory but at the end of the day, people were going to hate them for it._

 

_Part of Roger understood why they hide it away while the other, more dominant part of him didn’t give a flying fuck and thought that if people were going to hate him for something that he might as well get a bit of enjoyment out of it._

 

_Roger tossed his cigarette away as he slid off the hood of the car. He had been gone for a little over an hour and despite the annoyance that had been lingering in his bones earlier in the night, all the man wanted to do was return home to his beloved._

 

_Whether or not the two decided to come forward with their relationship was still up in the air. All Roger knew was that currently, he was quite miserable, but he’d rather be miserable with that beautiful man by his side than be miserable all on his lonesome._

 

_Getting into the car, Roger tossed the ring into the glove compartment. Christmas was still a few days away after all. It could stay locked away for a bit while longer. Or maybe not. Maybe hurrying home to pop the question was exactly what the couple needed right at this moment._

 

_Maybe, maybe._

 

Roger ran his finger over the dark stone, smiling as he brought it to his lips for a gentle kiss. He knew it sounded ridiculous, one man proposing to another. And maybe that wasn’t even the plan from the beginning, but now Roger couldn’t think of anything else he’d rather do. 

 

Roger may not remember everything that went on in his life in the past seven years, but one thing had remained: John was the best thing to ever happen to him. And even if they kept their relationship quiet — so what! Roger had someone who loved him and stood by him through the unthinkable. The blond couldn’t imagine being with anybody else but him, so if that meant swallowing down his pride and being a bit more careful than so be it! 

 

Roger turned the key to start the car, ready to peel out of the parking lot. Problem was, he was a bit overzealous and a tad too excited and ended up having to cut short before he even ended up out into the street. He swerved forward to avoid another car heading into the lot, slamming right into a fire-hydrant that burst at the scene. Roger, who had pulled his seatbelt on before taking off, flew forward, his head smashing the steering wheel with a loud thud and in a flash, the world around him went black. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The Beatles song Roger hears in the car and makes him think of John is "I Will" which happens to be my all-time favorite Beatles song and one of their most underrated, in my opinion. 
> 
> Please, tell me what you think. A lot happened in such a short chapter and I am eager to know what you all think. 
> 
> Only two chapters left. 
> 
> (SHRIEKING)


	14. Chapter 14

Roger let out a groan as Freddie and Brian entered the hospital room, both looking stressed and a bit worn as they made their way over to him. The small fender bender he had been in was nothing compared to the previous accident, but he had been knocked out cold and taken in to make sure there was no further damage. 

 

His nose had been fractured, leaving his face a bit bruised and his head pounding. After he had taken in the hospital for a second time, the doctors and nurses fixed him up as much as they could. Thankfully, he hadn’t landed himself into a coma for the second time. 

 

His car was a bit crushed, but luckily he was still in the collections lot and they took it right back. He’d have to pay for all the damage and his insurance was sure to drop him by this point, but he wasn’t lacking in money. They had enough albums to their names to afford destroying ten cars three times over. 

 

Freddie looked the exact opposite of pleased as he and Brian pulled up, his hands crossing over his chest as he looked his bandmate over. 

 

“Honestly, Roger? I’m starting to think you’re just doing this for attention!” Freddie commented in his usual dramatic and judgmental self.

 

“I’m getting very tired of having to drive to this hospital, Roger. Do I look like a bloody chauffeur?” Brian quipped, leaning back against the far wall. 

 

“Oh, shut up!” Roger groaned, his voice higher and a tad more nasally than usual. He was lucky to have walked away at all, no matter how small the accident was. To be honest, it was more ridiculous than anything. Hitting a fire hydrant right out of the gate. What kind of fool would do such a thing?

 

The drummer of Queen, that is who. 

 

“We didn’t call John. We worried we’d give him too much of fright if he found out you were in another accident.”

 

“I’m fine. Car is beaten up, but it’s mostly my face and ego that’s been harmed.” Roger confessed to them tiredly.

 

“Really Roge, I think you’re getting a bit comfortable here.” Brian teased. “You should set up your solo video right here in hospital.” 

 

Roger turned, his blue eyes sparkling even brighter with the dark circles settled on his face. He was bruised and beaten, but he was alive and that was all that mattered. The nurses had given him an icepack for his head, which was now wet and mushy in his hand. 

 

“Oh, har-har, very funny. Big words from the man who had to be hospitalized mid-tour!” Roger fired back, tossing the icepack onto the table beside him. 

 

“We agreed to never mention that. I could have died.” 

 

“I was in a bloody car accident!” Roger snapped. “Not to mention the stomach ulcer just a few months later. I think the Lord of Music is trying to tell you something, Bri. Too many guitar solos will do you in. _FUCK_!” 

 

Roger leaned away, holding his face in his hands after the curly-haired giant reached out of flick his nose ever so slightly. 

 

“Gangly cunt!” 

 

“Would you to stop it?” Freddie snapped, pushing forward to stand between the two. He stopped, turning to face the blond; his head cocked and eyes narrowed just so. “Roger, how did you know about Brian’s bout of hepatitis?” 

 

“What do you mean how do I know? I was bloody there, Fred!” Roger mentioned, hissing as he tried to breath through his nose. 

 

“What tour?” 

 

“Fucking _Sheer Heart Attack_! Our first time in America and the bastard nearly loses his liver!” 

 

“What year?” 

 

“Seventy-five. Fuck Freddie, what is with the questions?” 

 

“I think he remembers,” Freddie mentioned, looking over to Brian. 

 

Brian came closer, causing the blond to automatically jolt in case he decided to get a bit too handsy again. They were watching him for a long while before shouting out every question they could. 

 

“Who did we first tour with — Mott the Hopple — what was our first hit single — _Killer Queen_ — Who is the prime minister — what the fuck does that have to do with us — answer the question — Callaghan — Who did John write _You’re My Best Friend_ for — certainly not you.” 

 

“I think he’s back, Brian,” Freddie said proudly, his teeth shining behind his wide grin. “Thank heavens for that. We were starting to wonder if we’d have to babysit you while on our next tour.” 

 

“Like you don’t have John do that regardless,” Roger mumbled. 

 

His head was pounding and his face felt like it was going to fall off, but he remembered. Christ, he remembered everything. He remembered writing his first song, performing on Top of the Pops. He remembered going on tour and watching over Brian when they almost lost him. He remembered buying that beautiful car that was now once again in the auto body shop. He remembered spending the first night in that gorgeous mansion with the man he loved.

 

He remembered the man he loved. John. Every moment, every year. Roger remembered it all. From the first time, he had confessed his true feelings for him just before getting on the stage of one of their biggest shows to date, to spending the early mornings wrapped up together in bed, stealing a bit of privacy from the world. 

 

Every moment of his life blooded back to him and all Roger could think about was how lucky he was to have a man like John stand by his side through everything.

 

“I have to get out of here,” Roger said, pushing off the hospital bed. 

 

“I have to sign you out. You made me your next of kin, you know. I’m quite honored.” 

  
After leaving the hospital for the first time, Roger had taken John and Miami off his emergency call list and added Freddie instead. He felt terrible just thinking of it and would make sure to change it back as soon as possible. 

 

“Yeah, yeah. Just take me home.” Roger paused, freezing when he remembered suddenly. He patted himself down, sighing in relief when he pulled the ring box out of his jacket pocket. “Thank Christ.” He sighed softly to himself. 

 

“Is that what I think it is?” Brian asked, his eyes widening as he looked at the item in his friend’s hand. 

 

“You’ll have to wait and find out,” Roger mentioned, shoving the box back into his pocket. “Now, take your drummer home already.” 

 

Freddie did as Roger requested. After signing him out of the hospital, they stopped off so the man could pick something up before they disposed of him in front of the mansion. They shouted out, wishing him luck and welcoming him back to the real world. 

 

Roger was practically skipping through the front door, searching around for his love. “Sweetheart!” He called out, searching all the lower level rooms, finding them empty. He hurried up the stairs, taking two steps at a time. Their bedroom was empty, as well were all the others. Roger found that all of John’s things had been put back in their rightful place, making him feel all warm and fuzzy inside. 

 

For a moment he thought John had gone off on his own but decided to check one last place. Pushing through the sliding door, Roger found his beloved sitting in the garden, his nose tucked away in a book and a teacup settled on the table beside him. 

 

Roger watched him for a long moment, taking in the sight of this wonderful man. How he could have ever forgotten about him was a true mystery. Deep inside, he knew he didn’t. The love he had for John lingered deep inside of him and would always exist even without the past seven years as a reminder. 

 

“Hello sweetheart,” Roger spoke softly, approaching finally. 

 

John looked up from his book, his smile falling when he caught sight of the man. He stood promptly, tossing his book to the side without a care. “Roger! What happened to you?” 

 

“Oh, this? Just a scratch really.” Roger waved it off like it was nothing. He had been so worried about the scar on his temple that was now slowly beginning to fade. A bit of a bruised nose and black eyes were nothing to him after everything he had survived in the past few months. 

 

John reached out, those perfectly gentle hands taking hold of Roger’s face by the jaw. He held onto him, getting a good look of the damage. 

 

“Am I still pretty, John?” He asked him softly. 

 

He was teasing and John knew it, but he gave in regardless, leaning up to kiss Roger’s forehead. “Beautiful, love.” The kiss was chaste and playful, but Roger adored it all the more. “Now what the hell happened?”

 

“Something tells me I’ll trading in the Ferrari for a bit of a tank,” Roger told him, lifting up the bouquet of roses he had gotten him on the way home. 

 

John let out a whisper of a laugh, taking the flowers and bringing them to his nose to inhale the fresh scent. “I hate you sometimes,” He admitted softly, stepping forward to embrace him gently. 

 

“Perhaps. But you love me all the time.” Roger mentioned, pulling back so face the man. “I found something, you know.” 

 

“Was this before or after you ruined your car and your face?” 

 

“Before, actually.” Roger gestured for the man to sit, while he decides to kneel down in front of him, want them to be eye to eye when he spoke. “I got this a while ago. Back when Freddie wanted to find something wonderful to wear at some press shoot or whatever. I saw it and thought of you. Because it’s simple and beautiful, just like you. And it looked like something you would like and something you would wear.” 

 

“You’re babbling, Roger.” 

 

“I’m a man in love, let me babble.” Roger chuckled as he dug his hand into his jacket pocket, pulling out the small box. He opened it carefully, holding it up so John could see the ring that was nestled inside. “I know you’re not into anything flashy or eye-catching. The stone is dark, and I’m sure there is some deeper meaning to it that I am unaware of, but I just thought . . . I just thought of _you_.” 

 

Roger had never been good at confessions. Even back in the early days where they were just fucking around, having a good time, Roger had never been very good at putting words to his feelings. Actions were easier. A man could very easily show how much he cared with his mouth or his hands or his cock. But Roger never liked to take the easy way out. And while their coming together hadn’t been as clean cut as it probably should have been, the two of them made it work and Roger wouldn’t have wanted it any other way. 

 

“That night I left, I said something that I deeply regret. I don’t want us to shuffle back into the silence or the shadows. We’ve never been in the shadows, John. My feelings for you have always been obvious and whether or not we’re screaming it to the mountains or sulking back into the void shouldn’t matter. I want to be with you every way possible. Every way and every day for the rest of our lives. And I hope you take this as my way of proving just that.” 

 

Roger didn’t know what to expect from John. Perhaps he would laugh it off because what kind of man would propose to another man? Utterly ridiculous! Perhaps he’d close the box and thank him for the effort, but things were fine the way they were without having to put another label onto their relationship. Maybe John would get a bit emotional over how crazy this whole thing was or maybe he’d just kiss him silly. 

 

Instead, he just stared at him, those lovely green eyes wide and aware as he looked between Roger and the ring. “That night,” He muttered quietly. “You remember that night. Our fight. You remember.” John stood up, nearly knocking Roger off his feet it was so quick. “Roger, you _remember_!” 

 

Right. Probably should have led with that. “Surprise?” Roger offered weakly. “The second bender sort of knocked some sense back into my head.” 

 

Roger was cut off by John kissing him. It was swift and intense and Roger found himself holding an arm back to keep himself from falling into rose bushes. He thought of all the times when they were young, in love, and happy. Truth was, thats how they were now. Still young, still in love, and still so bloody happy. 

 

“You absolute bastard!” John laughed, pulling away to smile brightly at him. 

 

Roger whimpered, the nudging of his nose causing a bit of pain, but he easily ignored it, wanting to once again kiss the man he loved so desperately. 

 

“You’re back.” He muttered, his voice shaking as he knelt to the ground with him. “God, I can’t believe you’re back.”

 

They were together on the ground, Roger’s hand at John’s waist while John’s good hand clutched at the soft fabric of the drummer’s shirt. Roger lifted his second hand, bringing it to cup at John’s face, his thumb running slowly along his cheek. 

 

“I’m here, sweetheart. And I’m never leaving again.” He swore, dipping forward to kiss John again and again. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> One chapter left and I don’t know about you, but I am not ready for it to end.


	15. Chapter 15

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The soundtrack for this chapter: any version of Can't Help Falling In Love you'd like to listen to. 
> 
> Highly suggest Pentatonix or Kina Grannis or any classical version.

Roger had almost forgotten how much he loved album release parties. Just a whole bunch of people, standing around and celebrating the hard work they had put in. There had been a few where the albums were harder to put together and the parties were more of a chance to blow off some steam, while others were a downright blast right off the bat. 

 

This particular party was a bit of both. The band had gone through hell and back due to his accident and while no one truly knew the bullshit they put up with, the group themselves were ready to put all that trouble behind them.

 

The party was in full swing and Roger couldn’t have been more pleased. He was mingling with the likes of Elton John and David Bowie, happily signing his signature on anything that was presented to him. He knew it was a bit ridiculous, but after losing his memory and having to fight to get it back, Roger didn’t want to forget another minute of this wonderfully ridiculous life he had going on. 

 

Freddie and Brian were celebrating the way they always did. With Freddie handing out gifts he had purchased on the record labels dime, surrounding himself with dozens of people who would make him feel like a million bucks. Paul was around somewhere, doing Freddie’s bidding like the pathetic little lemming he was, but Roger paid him no mind. 

 

Brian was sitting in the corner with Chrissie, whispering sweet nothings in her ear. Roger was sure the guitarist would stay for the polite amount of time before finally dragging his beautiful wife so they could have a celebration of their own. 

 

Roger planned on doing the very same to John the moment they found themselves growing bored of the night. John was off on the dance floor, doing that thing he did whenever he was even the slightest bit tipsy. As their careers had gone on, Roger had been the one to dabble a bit into the drug uses that went on at parties like these. 

 

Powder and pills had always been something worth his while, but tonight all he wanted was a bit of a drink and the promise of a cold bed that he and John could very easily heat up. Roger had bobbed his head to the music that was playing overhead. They were funky beats that he was sure John had personally requested, though he didn’t mind so much anymore. 

 

After his accident, Roger took music a tad more seriously now and while rock and roll would always be his main focus, the only thing that mattered to him was the creation behind it all. 

 

Halfway through the night, after greeting nearly every guest he did or didn’t know, Roger found himself in the corner with the rest of the band. Freddie was in the middle of telling some overly dramatic and extremely exciting story when he made his way over, drinks in hand. 

 

They had heard it time and time again; a fantastic report on something amusing that happened on their last tour. It was interesting at the time and Freddie could make it interesting now. He could make the phone book sound magical because that was who Freddie Mercury was. A damn miracle worker. 

 

“Same story as last time?” Roger asked John, going to stand beside him and handing off his drink as Freddie finished up his tale.

 

They kept their usual distance. Close, but not too close. They were bandmates after all. Being close physically wouldn’t be the biggest surprise, especially on a night like tonight when it was all about getting down and having the time of their lives. 

 

“Different ending this time around,” John mentioned, lifting his glass to take the final sip from it, placing it down on the edge of a nearby table to focus on the glass that Roger and brought him. 

 

The party was a little way after everything that had happened to the two, meaning they were finally in proper physical health. The sling John wore had finally been removed and the black eyes and nose stint were gone from Roger’s face. They both had scars (physically and mentally) that were healing day after day, allowing the two men to finally move on with their lives.

 

The ring that Roger had given John caught his eye and the blond found himself smiling. They knew they would never have what Chrissie and Brian had and they were just fine with that. Perhaps someday the world would be more accepting to two men in love, but for now, they were content with where they were. 

 

All the hurt and anger that had been welled up inside of Roger simmered out the moment he got his memory back. They had spent a week together afterward, celebrating the beauty and excitement locked away in their not-so-little mansion. “I could write a song about this,” John mentioned dreamily as they laid out together in the yard, wrapped up in the lawn chair without a care in the world as the warm sun settled on their skin.

 

Roger ran his nose along John’s cheek, taking in that delicious scent that had lingered on his pillows before finally drifting off. That scent returned now, on their bed and on Roger himself after being tangled up with this beautiful man for days in the end. 

 

“I am sure you will and you’ll make millions off it. Buy us another wonderful mansion off all the royalties.” Roger mentioned, kissing along his jaw slowly until he could go lower and lower; finding himself very thankful that their land was too large for anybody to see what he planned on doing to this man, his fiancé. 

 

Afterward, when all things were said and done, they found that were more important things to worry about than whether or not he could hold John’s hand out in public or not. For Christ sake, the man nearly lost his life. He was thankful to even have a man like John, so he would take him any which way he could. 

 

No one would expect something as extravagant as a proposal when they saw the ring settled on his hand. After all, it was the late seventies; all men were rings on their hands without having to be attached to anyone. It would be their own little secret. Sometime down the line, they would have their own little ceremony, where in front of their friends and family and maybe even God if the bastard decided to show, they would swear their loyalty to one another. 

 

Promising those overused and cliched words together as some disgustingly romantic song played in the background. It sounded utterly horrid and wonderful at the same time, and Roger couldn’t wait for the day to come. 

 

“All right, all right. Settle down, everyone.” Miami called, clinking a knife against one of the glasses to get the attention of all those around them. 

 

“Quiet down, children!” Freddie shouted, finally getting the room to fall into a gentle hush. “Mr. Beach,” Freddie said, extending his hand for the man to carry on.

 

“Yes, well, as much as I am not one to give speeches, I do believe it is customary to say a word at parties like these. Once again you lads have proven yourselves as worthy musicians.”

 

“Oh Miami, you flatter us so!” Freddie mentioned, smiling that toothy smile of his. 

 

“Now, I don’t want to get too emotional. Nobody wants to see a rock band get all weepy.” 

 

“I second that notion!” Brian called out from the corner. A round of laughter came around and Miami began speaking again once it settled.

 

“I just wanted to take a moment to express how proud I am of you lads. We’ve been through so much together, the lot of us, but you all stood together and pushed past the hardships and made something wonderful. I know it seemed like we’d be stuck in the dark times forever, but you boys made it out on top. _News Of The World_ is one hell of an album and while it took a while to get to this point. To Queen!” 

 

“TO QUEEN!” The crowd shouted back, raising their glasses in honor of the band and their newest released. 

 

Roger turned, clinking his drink to all those around him before turning to face John. “To Queen,” he said, moving his hand forward to clink their glasses together, but he found himself being kissed instead. 

 

Roger jerked back in an instant, freezing at the sudden realization of who he was kissing and where they actually were. 

 

“What are you doing?” Roger muttered, trying his best to play it off. He looked about, not noticing if anyone was even paying attention to them or not. 

 

“Coming out of the shadows, Roger,” John answered him simply. He lifted his hand, the dark stone shining as he combed his fingers through the bottle-blond locks. “Stepping into the noise.” 

 

Roger lifted his own hand, settling it on John’s shoulder to keep him at bay. “If we do this, there’s no going back.” He told him quietly. 

 

Roger wouldn’t allow them to get a taste of the real world only to quickly slip back into the closet. If they made this choice, they would be forced to live with it for the rest of their lives. 

 

John shrugged, looking completely and utterly unfazed by the simple act that would have caused an uproar just months prior. 

 

“What do we have to lose?” John offered quietly. 

 

There were a dozen things Roger could have said, but in the end, none of it really mattered anyway. “Nothing. Nothing at all.” He answered quietly. 

 

Pulling the brunet in, Roger kissed him with every ounce of passion the drummer could muster in one single moment. In front of their friends, their family, and dozens of strangers. Eyes might have been on them, but neither seemed to notice or even really care. 

 

After all, this was something to celebrate. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And that is it, my lovely readers. I thank you so much for everything. 
> 
> For laughing with me, for crying with me, and sticking by this fic through each and every chapter. I will be forever grateful for the chance to write such a story and to be apart of such a strong fandom. 
> 
> I have one more story coming for you lot. It won't be as angst-filled, I promise. Until then, please tell me what you thought down below.


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